


The Bottom Bunk

by ORiley42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Explicit Language, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Angst, Romance, Season 9, Slow Burn, canonish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean, and Cas go out to Minnesota to investigate a haunted hostel. Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon-divergent from early season 9…because Cas is human, but hanging out with the Winchesters because of reasons, Sam is not possessed by Gadreel, and Dean still has the Samulet and doesn’t have the Mark of Cain because of…equally good reasons.  
> This is my first fic, so Kudos, comments, etc. are extra-appreciated! :)

“What? You mean that old gardener Jim, with his rusty axe? Certainly I’ve heard the tale, many a time, it has become quite the classic!” The squat farmer smiled toothily at the two men who’d roared up his driveway a quarter hour past, and were now seated at the kitchen table of his old farmhouse.

            “Well, we were wondering if you could give us anything more than just the folk story, you know, any little details that may have slipped out of the common retellings,” the larger of the two inquired, raising his pen and paper, “to add some spice to our story.”

            “Yeah,” the handsome one piped up, “things like…what kind of guy Jim was before, maybe…”

            “Oh, well…” the man pinched his eyebrows together in thought.

            “How he died…” the big guy added.

            “Where he was buried…” the smaller one asked nonchalantly.

            “Sure–wait, what?”

            “What?” the two responded innocently.

            The middle-aged fellow shuffled uncomfortably. “Listen, boys, I really don’t know anything more, I just bought this place a few years ago. And as far as I know, Gardner Jim is just an old ghost story, something to add a little color to an otherwise pretty drab little place, all towns have ’em. If you want to know any of the more, uh, _esoteric_ details, then you’ll have to find someone else who’s been around longer to help you with your story. I don’t know anything about Jim or…burials. Have a good day, gentlemen,” he said pointedly, as he stood and gestured towards the door.

            “Thank you for your time,” the tall one said graciously, as he steered his somewhat surlier looking partner towards the exit.

            The screen door swung shut behind the brothers, as Dean growled, “Well, that was a bust. Farmer Hoggett back there doesn’t know a damn thing. Maybe because there ain’t anything to know.”

            “Maybe, but four mutilated corpses tell a different story,” Sam countered as he folded himself into the Impala’s passenger seat.

            Dean slammed the driver’s door and turned the key. “Could just be some backwoods redneck nutjob slicin’ and dicin’ folk. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

            “Yeah, but this witness says the night she and her boyfriend checked into that hostel, their room got ‘super cold’ and that’s why he went out in the first place, looking for the manager or someone to fix the heat. Then she heard ‘weird creaky noises,’ got worried, and went out to look for him.”

            “And she found him.”

            “Yeah, she found him in half a dozen pieces scattered outside the laundry room.”

            “Wow. See, that’s why we don’t stay in hostels, Sam.”

            “Hey, I stayed in a few hostels in Arizona when I visited those ancient cave dwellings during college.”

            “God, you’re such a nerd.”

            “Shut up, they were really interesting!”

            “No, Sam, they’re literally holes in rocks.”

            Their typical, comfortable bickering took them all the way back into town, where Dean carefully maneuvered Baby’s considerable bulk into a parking space opposite the small, cat-themed café where they’d left behind their third partner in crime to question the locals.

            “And oh yeah, they say there’s a real big one coming down on Friday, lightin’ and everything, so make sure and keep the kids indoors, you hear!” the red-cheeked, gray haired proprietor of the Kitten Mittens Café and Fudge Shop waved cheerfully at a departing customer as Sam and Dean stepped out of the biting Minnesotan wind, and began to scan the small store for their friend. They spotted him tucked into a corner table, most definitely _not_ grilling the locals for dirt on a possible vengeful spirit, and looking an awful lot like someone who’d spent the afternoon gorging himself on chocolate.

            “And, what exactly do you call this?” Dean gestured expansively to the wrappers littering the sticky Formica in front of Castiel. “Did the Maple Nut Crunch have some dark secrets? Or, I know, the Double Chocolate Mint was definitely a shady character.” Dean picked up one of at least a dozen squares of wax paper and waved it in Cas’ face, “I bet the M&M was just a veritable font of info.” Sam pursed his lips at Dean and shook his head slightly. “C’mon man, cut the guy some slack”, he reprimanded his brother silently.

            “I, I am sorry, but I have never had this thing called fudge before, and I’m afraid I may have gotten a bit carried away,” Cas’ chocolate smeared lips turned up into an apologetic half-smile, and Dean had to fight the urge to take a napkin to his friend’s face.

            “Listen, Cas, just…” Dean exhaled, unable to work up any real annoyance, especially with Cas’ ridiculous blue eyes gazing at him like that. Someone who used to be able to nuke an entire city block with just a thought definitely shouldn’t look like so much like a perplexed kitten. He must have been taking lessons from Sam.

            “Did you at least catch anything on the local news?” Dean pointed to the muted TV mounted above the counter.

            “Uh…” Cas looked around for a moment, scanning the room until he found the television. “Male strippers take down gunman at Vegas show,” he read off the banner running along the bottom of the screen.

            Dean blinked. “Right. Not exactly the kind of headline we’re lookin’ for, Cas.” He sighed, in a way he would most definitely not characterize as affectionate, as he plopped down in a chair next to his friend. “Well, we didn’t find squat either, so don’t feel too bad.” Dean eyed a bit of chocolate hungrily, his stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten in nearly two hours. A travesty, really. Cas noticed the direction of his gaze, and picked up the bit of fudge. “Please, have some, it’s delicious,” he said pushing the morsel at Dean’s lips. He did so rather too forcefully, hitting Dean in the teeth with the chocolate, causing him to choke a little in surprise at being forcefully hand-fed by an ex-angel. Dean caught Sam’s aborted chuckle, clumsily disguised as a cough, and almost spit out the fudge in an attempt to reestablish his masculinity, and cover up his embarrassment. But it was actually really, really good fudge, and he was hungry, so he swallowed, as Sam looked meaningfully away, his mouth still twitching with amusement.

            “ _Personal_. _Space_.” Dean growled under his breath at Cas.

            “Apologies,” Cas nodded, somewhat nonplussed, and peered at Sam, who was now turning a bit red from the exertion of not laughing out loud at Dean’s stony expression.

            “Well, it seems that the most obvious thing to do is to just go and check into the hostel. Figure out what’s going on from the inside, since the townies don’t seem to be overflowing with leads,” Dean changed the subject gruffly. Sam nodded in agreement, pulling himself together with no small amount of difficulty.

            “Okay then.” As Dean heaved himself to his feet, Cas tapped his shoulder and held out a slip of paper. “Uh, before we leave, you must settle this debt with that woman behind the counter.” Cas pointed towards the jolly owner, currently wrapping up a pound of fudge for a bespectacled older man. “I ran out of the money you gave me, and so I told her that when my friends returned they would have the currency required to pay for my purchases.”

            “What? We gave you, like, fifty bucks before we left, wasn’t that enough?”

            “There are a great many flavors in this establishment, and having never sampled this particular foodstuff before it seemed only fair to try each –”

            “Alright, alright, Augustus Gloop, but we are getting you on Weight Watchers, pronto. No more chocolate binges, capicé?” Dean pointed the rather outrageous check at Cas’ slightly guilty features.

            “I Capicé.”

            “Then let’s hit the road,” Dean clapped Cas on the back and followed his friend and brother out of the store, after slapping several large bills on the counter. Oh well, there were worse ways their admittedly ill-gotten money could’ve been spent. The dangers of an ex-angel in a candy store, who knew?

~~~~~

            A half hour later, the trio hit the lobby of the hostel where, over the course of the past 80 or so years, four horrifically chopped up bodies had been discovered. The incidents were far enough apart in time, several decades between the first two, that it hadn’t garnered the attention of any of the local law enforcement, or any of the other forces of less-legal justice. However, the last two had happened inside a month of each other, and although the chatter at the local PD hadn’t mentioned any ideas about a serial killer, the brothers knew that if any more corpses popped up, there’d be boys in blue crawling all over a possible haunting, and that spelled trouble for everyone.

            “Hi there,” Dean clicked into his suave-and-persuasive mode as he approached the check-in desk, manned by a young, slender brunette. “We were wonderin’ if you got any rooms for us?”

            “Well, I’m afraid we’re rather low on rooms at the moment,” the woman said, clicking through windows on her old, boxy computer. “As the new wing isn’t open just yet, and there are some…maintenance issues in one area of the hostel, so there are only two rooms available…and it seems one of them is reserved…but the other is open. It’s fairly large; it has a bunk bed, with a twin on top and a double on bottom, so, if two of you don’t mind sharing….”

            “That’ll do fine,” Dean answered. He didn’t particularly savor the idea of sharing one room with two other large men, but if things went well, they’d be on the graveyard roll tonight anyway, not sleeping.

            “If you just sign here…and the total will come to…” As Dean signed the paperwork and handed over his fraudulent credit card, he caught sight of the rack of newspapers, all with blazing headlines screaming some variation of “Violent Murder”. He waved vaguely at the paper and asked in as casual way as is possible to ask such a question, “Those maintenance issues….they wouldn’t have anything to do with the murder that happened here recently?”

            The clerk paled a bit, “Well…yes, yes they do, but there is no need to worry, everything has been looked into and….well, I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

            Dean hit the unsuspecting clerk with his most charming smile, as he asked with a wink, “But c’mon, honey, you can tell me. It’ll be our little secret.”

            The young woman raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I don’t think so, _honey_.”

            Dean stepped back from the counter with an awkward cough, unused to being shot down at all, much less so quickly and directly. However, he followed her gaze and saw that she was looking with a great deal more interest behind him – ah. Well, you win some, you lose some. Go get her, tiger, he said silently to his brother with a waggle of his brow. Sam grinned and stepped forward, pleased, but stopped when her look turned icy again at his approach. Sam and Dean were confused for a moment, before they turned in unanimous understanding to Cas, who was inspecting the ceiling molding with a great deal more attention than it deserved. Sam coughed loudly, and elbowed Cas, who looked up at Sam, and then Dean’s face, before finally noticing the clerk’s deliberate gaze. The ex-angel shuffled uncomfortably for a moment, before stepping forward hesitantly at the brothers’ silent urging.

            “Uh…” he began eloquently, looking to Sam and Dean for guidance, only to see them stepping slowly away. “My friends and I were wondering about the recent murders that occurred here,” he finally stated blatantly.

            “Oh, were you, Mr…?” the clerk trailed off questioningly.

            “Mr….Winchester. Castiel Winchester,” Cas answered hesitantly.

            “Nice to meet you, Castiel, cool name. I’m Emily…Hey, does that mean he’s your brother?” Emily waved in Dean’s direction. Dean grinned at Cas from across the room, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

            “No,” Cas responded shortly, before barreling on, “we were wondering whether the recent murders might be connected to reports of paranormal activity in the area.”

            Emily seemed taken aback, but still interested. “Well,” she seemed to consider for a moment, before leaning in conspiratorially, “it’s funny you should say that because some of the guests have been telling some strange stories lately….and some say that this hostel is _haunted_.”

            Cas nodded solemnly, and continued to stare in his unwavering, unnerving way. However, instead of having its usual unsettling effect, Cas’ stare seemed to intrigue the young clerk, who stepped out from behind the counter and led Cas with a gentle tug on his elbow towards an collection of old wooden frames hung on the wall opposite.

            “That,” she pointed to the largest picture in the middle, “is the staff that used to run this place when it was a mansion owned by Richard MacArthur.” It was an old black and white photo depicting two lines of men and women standing neatly in front of the building that Cas recognized as the hostel. However, this picture was clearly taken during better days. Even with the fuzzy, faded quality of the photo, it was clear that the lawn was manicured, and the exterior paint had not been allowed to chip away as it had now.

            “Legend has it, that Richard had this beautiful fiancée, but she was killed the night before their wedding,” Emily continued, tapping the dusty glass, “and they say that this guy, the gardener, was the one who did it…chopped her to pieces with an axe.” She raised a significant eyebrow, waiting for Cas’ reaction.

            “So, you believe,” Cas inquired in his usual straightforward way, “that the spirit of this gardener is still haunting this building and murdering its inhabitants?”

            “Well, it sure seems a funny coincidence, someone dying in that particular way all those year ago, and now with two people dead here….well. I know about ghosts, I’ve seen _The Ring_.”

            Cas blinked. “Is there some specimen of jewelry that informs you about the spirit world?” he inquired, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling in honest confusion.

            “No, it’s a _movie_ , not an actual ring…You know, you’re kinda strange,” Emily giggled, her words more flirtatious than malicious.

            “So I’ve been told,” Castiel admitted.

            “Well I –” she stopped mid-sentence as a young couple burst through the entrance with a flurry of lovestruck twittering, and a great clatter of luggage.

            “Uh, just, excuse me a moment, would you?” As Emily scurried back to her post to deal with the new customers, Sam gestured towards the stairs. “I’ll go check out the room, you stay here and see if you can, uh, get anything more from her.” Sam bit his lip, as he swung through the lobby door, and Dean, laughing outright, was about to follow when Cas’ hand shot out to clutch at Dean’s sleeve.

            “Dean. Do not leave me here alone.”

            “Aw, c’mon, dude, you got this in the bag.”

            “I do not want this, in a bag, or elsewhere.”

            Dean shook his head at Cas’ typical confusion, both in understanding idioms, and in his attempts at human interaction.

            “How do I deflect her attentions?” Cas whispered in a slightly panicked tone, as Emily sent him a significant glance over the guest book.

            “You just tell her you’re not interested, it’s pretty simple,” Dean answered with a shrug, giving the woman in question a once over as she stepped out from behind the counter to direct the couple to the stairs.

            “But how do I do that…correctly?”

            “You mean without hurting her feelings, or offending her?”

            “Yes.”

            “No idea.”

            “ _Dean_.”

            “Seriously, man, there’s not really an easy way to let someone down, especially not after you kind of led her on just now.”

            “I … I had no intention of being dishonest…”

            “Yeah, but you know what they say about roads and intentions…”

            “Dean, _please_ ,” Cas was nearly begging, and Dean found himself on the verge of laughing again. The guy had faced down the King of Hell with a sassy one-liner, but one pretty woman and bam! He was out for the count. As Emily approached, Dean took pity on his friend, and murmured under his breath, “Ok, follow my lead, and she’ll be outta here in a flash.”

            “So, Castiel, what are your plans for the evening? You gonna be out hunting ghosts?” Emily joked, her smile as she slowly sashayed towards Castiel from behind the counter was suggestive, to say the least. Dean, whose current strategy was something along the lines of ‘make Cas out as a psycho so she’ll skedaddle’, glanced around, hoping for inspiration that would lead to a less drastic plan. His gaze finally landed upon the couple, giggling in unison as they pawed through a rack of pamphlets. Ah, well, not particularly original, but highly effective. Before he could think better of the consequences of his actions (namely: inconceivable weirdness) Dean arranged his features into his very best “jealous” face, and slid an arm around Cas’ waist.

            “Actually, Cas has plans tonight,” Dean stared the clerk down, “with me.”

            “Oh.” She stepped back. “So you two are…”

            “Yeah…” Dean threw an affection smile at Cas, who had gone rigid and wide eyed, and gave him a squeeze.

            “Married?”

            “What?” squeaked Dean, turning back to Emily so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

            “I mean…you’re both named Winchester, and you said you weren’t brothers,” she clapped her hands together in a gesture of understanding, “I get it, you wanted to keep it on the down low. No big,” she assured the pair, who were standing in stunned silence, “I know how it can be. Nice to meet you anyway!” She spun away quickly, and dashed back behind the check-in counter with a blush.

            “Well,” Dean seemed to be in mild shock, which Cas supposed explained why he hadn’t yet removed his hand from its position slung on Cas’ hip.

            “That did work quite well,” Cas tilted his head towards his faux husband, “thank you for your assistance.”

            “Uh, yeah. Anytime.” Dean seemed to realize he was still invading Cas’ personal space, and swiftly dropped his arm, and took a wide step away from his friend.  They stood awkwardly for a moment, Cas watching Dean’s face and Dean looking anywhere that wasn’t Cas’ face.

            “We should go to the room,” Dean broke the silence, heading towards the door leading to the upper floors of the hostel.

            “Oh,” he held up a finger, stalling Cas mid-step, “and if you ever mention even a single word of this to Sam, you will be dead before you hit the floor. You understand?”

            “Yes, of course. I understand,” Cas nodded hastily as he followed Dean to the door. That door then swung open, smacking Dean in the nose with a sharp crack.

            “Oh, jeez,” Sam clapped a hand over his mouth, as Dean clutched at his nose, cursing a blue streak that made use of the name of Castiel’s father in impressively creative ways.

            “Sorry, man, I just…” Sam grimaced, pulling Dean’s hand from his face to inspect the damage.

            “Ah, I’m fine you friggin’ Sasquatch. Just watch where you’re goin’ next time!” Dean shoved his brother’s ministrations away grumpily, still gently touching his tender nose. “C’mon, let’s go take a wander ‘round this place, see if we find anything.” Dean stalked off down a hall to the left and Sam and Cas followed, both keeping a safe distance from the unhappy older Winchester, although for very different reasons.

           Cas quickly summarized the information he’d gathered from Emily as the trio wandered through the twisting, disorganized, off-white hallways of the hostel. After a minute or two of locked rooms and deserted stairwells, they heard animated voices conversing through a door on the left. As they entered what was identified by a tarnished brass placard as “The Sitting Room”, they heard the male half of the young couple insisting to his companion: “There’s a damn wolf out there, or somethin’.”

            “I mean, yeah, there was definitely something watching us,” she agreed.

            “It was pretty weird.”

            “It was creepy!”

            Sam and Dean turned towards the recently arrived couple, who were speaking to each other in rushed, excited tones at the east end of a long hall lined with a variety of comfortable looking couches and tables. At the other end, a tall, thin man in a suit and a hat was looking up from his newspaper with interest at the new arrivals.

            “Split up?” Dean stated, more than asked.

            “Sure,” Sam nodded.

            “I’ll go talk to the douche in the hat,” Dean decided.

            “What? What makes you say he’s a douche?”

            “He’s wearing a fedora, Sam. That is the literal definition of douche.”

            “No it’s not, I mean I used to…” Sam trailed off, thinking better of what he was about to say.

            “No…” Dean began to grin.

            “You know what, forget it, you and Cas take hat guy –”

            “No _way_!”

            “– and I’ll go and check out the couple over there.”

            “I want pictures!” Dean called after his younger brother’s hunched, retreating shoulders. “Ah, that Sammy,” he laughed, turning to Cas, “there’s always something.”

            “Always something, what?” Cas tilted his head, confused.

            “Always something that makes him an even bigger dork than I thought.”

~~~~~

            “So, like I said, the bartender knew all about it…”

            “Yeah, he was totally an expert on all that, you know…”

            “ _Paranormal_ stuff…”

            The young couple, Daisy and Darren, babbled excitedly at Sam, eager to share the story they’d picked up at the local bar of the terrifying ghost that haunted this hostel. Sam sighed. This wasn’t the first case they’d been on where the thing they were hunting had made a name for itself, but those cases never ended well. The more famous the monster, usually spirits of well-known figures like this one, the more innocent and often full-on stupid people came wandering about, and ended up with their insides on their outsides.

            “And he said, that the ghost always comes for young couples!” the young man told Sam, sounding positively thrilled.

            Sam started. “Wha…but then why in the world are you staying here? If you fit the profile of the vics? Vic…victims,” he corrected himself.

            “But that’s just an added bonus!” the young woman added breathlessly. “I mean, we came here looking for an adventure!”

            “We thought we’d go on some long hike in the woods or something…” Darren explained.

            “Find our inner selves or whatever…” Daisy continued.

            “But then we hear that there’s an actual _ghost_ in town?”

            “How epic would that be to see a real ghost? I mean…”

            “Yeah, a real live –”

            “Dead,” Sam had to interject.

            “Real DEAD ghost!” the couple agreed in unison, their enthusiasm not at all quashed by the very _real_ possibility of their deaths. Darren pulled his phone out and waved it about. “As soon as we heard about this ghost, we knew, we’re gonna be the ones!”

            “Yeah! We’re gonna be the ones, the first ones to get a real picture of a real ghost!” Daisy squeaked, her delight almost too much for her to contain.

            Sam struggled to repress a groan at her words. God, it was like the Ghostfacers all over again, but these two were, if possible, even more unprepared for the incredible evil they seemed so intent on poking with a stick. “Hey, listen, I’m gonna tell you somethin’…” Sam leaned in, Daisy and Darren reciprocated.

            “My brother and I, we’ve seen a lot of stuff. Pretty much grew up on the road, been all around the country. But guys…there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

            The couple deflated slightly, the man looking disappointed, the woman growing angry.    

            “Hey, dude, you don’t know anything,” she snapped, her previously sweet demeanor vanishing entirely.

            “I’m just saying, if you’re looking for an adventure, this isn’t the place! Now down in California there are these –”

            “No, mister, I think we’ll be just fine here. We’re gonna stick around and when we see a real ghost, well, we’ll mention you on Oprah,” and Daisy gripped Darren’s elbow and led him out of the hall with a stomp and a huff. Sam heaved a sigh, and ran his hands through his hair. As usual, his attempts to drag naïve innocents out of the line of fire had backfired spectacularly. He glanced over at this brother and Cas, wondering if they were faring any better.

~~~~~

            Fedora guy’s name turned out to be Jones, Nick Jones. He twirled a toothpick, chewed to a pulp, between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it back between his smirking lips as he leaned back in his chair, considering Cas and Dean.

            “So, you guys are reporters?”

            “Yessir, me and my partners here chase any and all stories of the wild and wacky…and we hear there’s plenty of that around here.”

            “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Nick flicked the splintered toothpick to the ground carelessly, “in fact, that’s why I’m here too. I was sent by the family of the guy that died here last, to see if I can scrounge up anything the police missed. After all, it’s not exactly normal to be chopped up into little bits, is it?”

            “No,” Cas answered the rhetorical question in his usual, serious manner.

            “So, my boys,” Nick leaned forward with a greasy smile, “I’m afraid that I don’t have anything for your story, but if _you_ ,” he poked Dean hard in the chest, something that under less public circumstances would have earned him a sharp punch in the nose at the very least, “hear of anything important, do tell me.” And he sauntered off with a jaunty tip of his hat.

~~~~~

            The trio trooped up three flights of winding stairs and wound through the maze of curving hallways to their room. It was small, square, and almost completely bereft of natural light, except for a musty skylight. It was on the top floor, so the ceiling was sharply slanted to accommodate the roof, meaning that Sam could only stand safely at the highest point in the room, and was forced to slouch his way around the rest. Not that there was a great deal of standing room, most of the space being taken up by the bunk bed, a twin on top and a double on the bottom, with a grungy sink tucked into the corner and a spindly wooden chair leaning against the wall. Dean and Sam wasted no time running a line of salt around the room, and leaning an iron poker against the door frame.

            “Where shall we begin?” Cas asked, standing stiffly in the middle of the cramped room, as Sam settled himself on the bottom bunk and unzipped his backpack.

            “Well, let’s recap what we _do_ know about this place. Whataya got Sam?” Dean asked, dropping into the room’s sole chair with enough force to nearly crack its shaky wooden legs.

            “Ok, uh…” Sam shuffled through some print outs from his trip that morning to the public library. “Not a lot, actually, there was a fire in the town library in the sixties, and a bunch of their records were lost. I couldn’t dig up a lot of specifics…The most informative thing I found about the history of the building was a personal piece about Harold MacArthur. He’s the one who built this place back in the 1880s. He was a big railroad baron, made a lotta money, but wanted an out of the way sort of place to raise his family.”

            “Outta the way? This place is in bumfuck nowhere.”

            “Yes, Dean, thanks for your input. Anyway, he and his wife, Elizabeth, and their two sons moved out here and lived happily ever after for a few years, from the sound of this. Then, I managed to find some old obituaries…well, I say find…one of the librarians there, Owen,  had a personal hobby of collecting obituaries, he’d made copies of all the old ones dating back to when the town first started. So, they’re pretty much all that survived…”

            “Some dude collects obituaries for _fun_? Wow,” Dean scoffed, leaning back in his rickety chair.

            “Says the guy who spends his days killing _dead_ people,” Sam retorted, swinging one of his long legs into the side of Dean’s chair, causing it to tip precariously backwards.

            “Anyway,” Sam continued pointedly, as Dean glared at him, flailing slightly to regain his balance, “it turns out their older son, Joseph, drowned in a nearby lake just a few years after they moved in. It says here it was an accident, but who knows, right? And then, a year later, on the anniversary of her son’s death, Elizabeth was found in the attic… she’d hanged herself. So that just leaves Harold and Richard, the younger son. And then, about a decade later, Harold died too, from a coronary.”

            “Well, that’s a cheery story. So what happened to Richard after all that?”

            “I’m not sure, exactly, all it says in Harold’s obit is that Richard, his only surviving heir, inherits all his property and worldly wealth. I couldn’t find any of the newspapers from that time, obviously, but I did find Richard’s obituary. It says that in 1898, Richard and his fiancée, a woman named Violet, both died at the same time…a little more digging and, well, this isn’t an obituary, but it was interesting enough that Owen got a copy of it anyway.” Sam tugged a slightly blurred photocopy out of his stack of research, and turned it around for Cas and Dean to see. “Murder at the MacArthurs” cried the bold black headline, with the subtitle: “Three dead: MacArthur, fiancée, and their killer”.

            Dean whistled low. “Gee, this case just gets better and better.”

            “The scoop according to this,” Sam held up the paper, “is that Richard MacArthur, the rich guy, was engaged to Violet Jackson, who was a maid in his household. They had some whirlwind romance, blah blah blah, but here’s where it gets interesting: ‘Miss Jackson had complained to the police of threats and stalking from Jim Harrison, a gardener at the MacArthur estate. Her fears became reality when she was brutally murdered by Harrison, the night before her wedding. MacArthur returned from a trip into town soon after the murder, and discovered the body. One of the mansion’s cooks reports that MacArthur, having known of the gardener’s past behavior towards his late fiancée, confronted Harrison. They struggled, and MacArthur managed to overpower the madman, and deliver a killing blow with the murder weapon, an axe, but not before Harrison struck MacArthur as well. Harrison was dead upon the arrival of the law, and MacArthur passed soon after that from blood loss and grief.’ They go on the say how they’ll mourn the loss of a great man, etcetera, and that Richard and Violet are to be put to rest in the town cemetery, ‘although they could not say their vows in life, they are united in death’.”

            “‘His’ and ‘her’ coffins, how romantic. What does it say about the killer?”

            “Uh…well, it doesn’t say here, but because of Owen’s hobby –”

            “–weird death obsession –”

            “Kettle, black, Dean…Owen has some of the old records from the town’s coroner, and it seems that Jim was cremated, and then his ashes were burned. I guess the townsfolk were pretty freaked out by having a crazed killer among them, and wanted to be sure he was all the way gone.”

            “Well, good for them, and I’d like to say that that crosses him off the list, but we’ve seen too many ghosts hang around even after their remains are burned. But geez, man, that’s a lotta corpses for one place.”

           “Yeah, which equals a lot of possible vengeful spirits,” Sam tossed his research onto his backpack with a sigh.

            “Maybe, but none of the victims were drowned or hanged, so that probably rules out the mom and the kid.”

            “Still leaves three people who all bit it under the same axe.”

            “So, the psycho axe-murderer, the beautiful bride-to-be, or the mad-with-grief fiancé? I mean, Jim’s an obvious favorite, even with the supposed burning of his corpse…still, any of those deaths could be grounds for a spirit pissed off enough to stick around.”

            “What do you think, should we just go torch ‘em all, just to be safe?” Sam looked uncomfortable at the thought.

            “That would be quite disrespectful,” Cas piped up for the first time.

            “Yeah, well, ‘disrespect’ is pretty low on my list of priorities. And priors,” Dean quipped. “Honestly, man, if you wanna hack the hunter’s life, you gotta get used to doing some pretty ‘disrespectful’ things. It’s in the description.” Dean stood up, and swung the Impala’s keys around his finger, trying for a jaunty smile. “Let’s go dig up some dead dudes. And a dead chick.”

            Cas just raised an eyebrow, disapproving. Dean shifted awkwardly back and forth on the balls of his feet, under Cas’ silent stare. Dean looked to his little brother for support, and Sam heaved himself off the lower bunk with a cough. “Listen,” Sam began, holding his hands up placatingly towards Cas, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we gotta weigh the safety of real, living people against respecting the dead.” He shrugged his shoulders, in a what-can-you-do fashion, and Cas nodded, standing up as well.

            “They’re already dead, right? It’s not like it’s gonna hurt ‘em now,” Dean added, earning a noiseless “you’re not helping” from Sam and a cold shoulder from Cas as he marched out the door with his nose in the air. Dean wondered briefly where the ex-angel had learned that bit of body language, as he followed Cas and Sam out of the room, and locked the door behind them.

~~~~~

            A little over a half an hour, and several truly abominable country roads later, the Impala and its cargo rumbled into the cemetery parking lot.

            “Have you considered the possibility,” Cas asked the brothers as they unloaded their grave-digging gear from the trunk, “that the ghost haunting the hostel was there before the MacArthur family? That, perhaps, they themselves were killed by the same ghost that is taking people today, that one of them is not the spirit, but it’s first victim?”

            The boys stopped what they were doing, and exchanged looks. “Damn, Cas, that’s a good point,” Dean turned to the ex-angel, impressed.

            “Yeah,” Sam looked pensive, “but the MacArthurs built that house, and they were the first people to live in it…who would’ve died there before that?”

            “Dunno…But it could have been sacred ground, or who knows, maybe some old-timey settler died on that patch of dirt and just waited until someone showed up that he could gank?” Dean sighed.

            Sam shook his head slightly, as he hefted a shovel onto his shoulder. “No, but it doesn’t add up. The MacArthurs all died different ways, and none of those included being chopped up with an axe, and that’s a pretty distinctive M.O.”

            Cas’ face fell slightly. “Ah, that is true.” He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture that Dean supposed he’d picked up from them. “It was a foolish thought.”

            “Hey, no, man,” Dean reached out to pat his friend’s shoulder awkwardly, pep-talks having never been his thing, “it’s cool. More than that, I mean… you’re not _really_ a hunter until you’ve spent a night crawling in the dirt chasing a crack-pot lead to nowhere.”

            Cas looked up at him, moonlight illuminating his small smile. “Really? Have _you_ spent the night crawling in the dirt?”

            “It’s metaphorical dirt, Cas, and no, I’m _way_ too good for that. I don’t make mistakes.” Dean winked, and slammed the trunk shut. “C’mon, let’s go get this party started.”

            They never did get to start that party, and Cas never got to ask the next question on his lips (“In what way does the desecration of multiple graves constitute a party?”), because at that moment Dean spotted the telltale flash of police lights in the distance.

            “What are they doing here?” Sam hissed in his brother’s ear.

            “I dunno…they’re not using their sirens though, so, maybe they’re just patrolling?”

            “What kind of police patrol graveyards in the middle of the night? They must have seen us, or something…”

            “Or something,” Dean confirmed grimly, shining his flashlight on the new, tidy sign tacked over the rusted chains locking shut the gate they had been planning to scale. It read in sharp red letters: “Entry strictly forbidden: trespassers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

            “I gather this means that we will not be able to salt and burn those people’s bones,” Cas stated.

            “Yeah, I gather you’re right,” Dean muttered, stowing his gear quickly in the backseat as the three men clambered back into the car, and tried to beat as hasty and quiet an exit as possible with a whale of a car and a rumbling thunderstorm of an engine.

            “Dammit,” Sam cursed from the passenger seat as they bounced down the ill-cared for road, the blue glow from his phone illuminating his annoyed features. “It was in their local paper three days ago. Someone saw a man, described as about 5’ 10” and slim, desecrating a grave, the owner of which was not disclosed,” Sam read, “Police pursued, but the perpetrator escaped. As an added precaution, local police and private security will patrol the graveyard during the night to ensure that our honored dead are not disturbed by criminals or hooligans.”

            “Or by the people trying to save everyone’s dumb asses!” Dean slammed his palms on the steering wheel in frustration. “Now what are we supposed to do? They’re got the place locked down at night, and someone might notice three guys digging up graves in the middle of the friggin’ afternoon!”

            “I don’t know, but just calm down, alright? We’ll figure something out,” Sam consoled his brother, although he was honestly pretty ticked off himself. “Let’s just go back to the hostel, we’ll get some rest, and we’ll regroup in the morning.”

            “Yeah, OK,” Dean grumbled.


	2. Chapter 2

“Top bunk,” Sam and Dean called in unison as the three large men trundled into their too-small room. The brothers turned to each other silently, and gravely raised one hand each. “Winner gets the top bunk?” Dean asked, settling into his rock-paper-scissors stance. Before Sam could answer, Cas interrupted, “What is so desirable about the top bunk?”

            “The top bunk is…well, it’s just better,” Dean attempted to explain.

            “And uh, another thing…someone’s gonna have to sleep on the floor,” Sam realized.

            “That will be fine for me,” Cas toed the cracked hardwood floor gingerly, “I’m sure the floor will suffice.” Dean and Sam’s faces fell simultaneously, watching Cas peering sadly at the ground.

            “No, man, you don’t have to,” Sam jammed his hands in his pockets, “we just aren’t used to, y’know, figuring out sleeping arrangements for three. It’ll work out fine.”    

            “No. Dean, you said that I’d have to ‘hack the hunter’s life’, and this is where I start.” To illustrate his point, Cas grabbed a blanket off the end of the bottom bunk, and then plonked down on the ground, sitting cross-legged and staring determinedly up at the brothers. “This will do fine. I will…tough it out.”

            Dean looked down at Cas’ resolute features, and felt a twinge in his chest…probably just hunger, he rationalized. Dinner was, like, never ago. He shrugged off the feeling, and turned to Sam. “Ok, then, in that case, whoever wins gets the double bed.” Sam considered for a moment, then nodded solemnly as he and his brother raised their hands again, in what constituted their most serious form of battle.

            “One, two, _three_!” they chanted together.

            “Haha!” Dean shouted victoriously as his make-believe scissors snipped at Sam’s pretend paper.

            “Well done,” Sam conceded, not looking at all disappointed. Dean watched him closely for a moment before concluding, “You wanted the top bunk all along, didn’t you.”

            Sam grinned mischievously, stepping up the ladder, “I think I’ll plead the fifth.” 

            “You sneaky bastard!” Dean accused him, with a grin. Sam just laughed down at him from his perch. Dean shook his head and flopped down onto the bottom bunk.

~~~~~

            Two hours later, Dean was staring at the underside of the top bunk, counting the stripes in the mattress and trying to ignore Sam’s whistling snores. Insomnia was hardly a new experience, but it never stopped being annoying as all fuck. He rolled over with a huff, trying to get more comfortable and almost leaped out of his skin when he saw a pair of shining blue eyes peeping out of the darkness at him.

            “Jeez, Cas, you scared the shit outta me!” he hissed.

            “Apologies,” came the quiet response from the dark floor.

            Dean scrubbed a hand across his face before continuing, “No, man, you didn’t do anything. Just forgot you were there for a moment.” Dean watched the eyes bob up and down in what he supposed was a nod. For nearly a minute blue eyes locked unwaveringly with green, before Dean broke the mildly awkward silence, asking, “So, you can’t sleep either?”

            “No, I –” Cas began slightly too loudly.

            “Shh!” Dean cut him off, hearing his brother roll over on the bunk above him and snuffle in his sleep. Dean gestured for Cas to come closer, and after a moment the ex-angel understood, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders and scooting across the hardwood floor.

            “What is keeping you awake, Dean?” Cas inquired in a whisper, leaning against the edge of Dean’s bed.

            “Ah, the usual. The daily crap we see, just running around in circles in my head, with a few of the golden oldies popping up.”

            “Golden oldies?”

            “Yeah, like…Sam dying. Dad dying. You dying.” Dean paused for a moment, unsure why he’d just admitted that so easily, and how to continue now that he had. “Ah…how about you?”

            Cas looked contemplative in the moonlight filtering through from above. “I also have issues with troubling memories…more generally, I have difficulty turning off thoughts of all kinds, whether horrifying or…” Cas looked away, suddenly falling silent.

            “Yeah, that kinda comes with the territory of being human. You just can’t get your brain to shut up,” Dean lightly smacked the side of his own head, as if it were a television with a loose wire that he could knock back into place. Cas smiled at that, although the happy expression slipped quickly off his face.

            “There are other things that are part of being human that are quite unpleasant. All of the physical requirements; eating, drinking, urinating…sleeping. They are all such tedious events that I used to be able to ignore completely, but that are now essential parts of my everyday existence…it all seems so…futile.”

            Dean nodded. “Well,” he propped himself up on his elbow, “that may be, but it’s not all bad you know. Like, eating, for example. Sure, it can be annoying when you get hungry and you’re in Nowheresville, U.S.A. and there’s not even a damn McDonalds in sight. But, then there are the other times, when you come across a great little diner in the next town over, and they have the best damn apple pie in the whole state, and it just makes your whole day that much better.”

            “That’s a very nice sentiment. I don’t suppose you have a charming anecdote that can relive the dull ache in my shoulders, do you?” Cas asked, stretching his arms out with a pained grunt.

            “Wow, you sure have caught onto sarcasm, haven’t you.” Dean replied, raising an eyebrow.

            Cas smiled begrudgingly. “Yes. That is another of the many things the bestowal of humanity upon me has brought.”

            “What else has the bestowal of humanity brought upon you, that keeps you up at night?”

            Cas’ face fell, and Dean felt a twist in his gut at the gloomy sight, regretting bringing up the topic again. “The losses I have sustained…” Cas murmured, “my grace, my wings, the company of my brothers and sisters…

            “Hey, hey,” Dean reached out to lift Cas’ chin to meet his eyes, but thinking better of it, squeezed his friend’s shoulder instead. “Look at me, man.” Cas dragged his sad eyes back up to meet Dean’s, glowing in the faint light with green fire. “What happened to you…it sucks. It sucks hard, but you still got us. And I know that’s pretty much shit compared to the glories of Heaven and all, but…I dunno. It’s all I have to give you.” Cas’ eyes widened, his expression unreadable. “I mean,” Dean added, “it’s all _we_ have to give you.” Cas rocked back on his heels for a moment, before leaning forward and grabbing Dean’s shoulder, as Dean had done a moment earlier.

            “Thank you,” Cas whispered, his always gravelly voice even rougher than usual. Dean didn’t know how to respond, and so just nodded, and continued to lie there on his side, as the silence stretched on. Then, Dean laughed suddenly, apropos of nothing. He removed his hand from Cas’ shoulder to slap it over his mouth, trying in vain to keep sounds that he would never admit were giggles from slipping through his fingers and waking his slumbering giant of a brother.

            “What?” Cas tilted his head, almost birdlike, his way of saying ‘I don’t understand.’

            “It’s just…this is, like, some really girly, emotional, sleepover shit we got goin’ on here.”

            Cas blinked. More head tilting. Dean sighed, but couldn’t help cracking a grin. Cas was just so… _Cas_.

            “Listen, man…” Dean closed his eyes, wondering if he was going to regret the offer he was about to make. “Sleeping on a hard floor, that’s no fun for anyone, much less, some guy who pretty much just had a timeshare goin’ on with a human body up until a little while ago. Just…come on up here.” Dean shuffled over to the other side of the bed, waving his arm welcomingly at the indent in the mattress that he had just vacated. Cas stared at him for a minute more, before practically jumping into the bed and diving under the covers, as if Dean would grab the offer back if he waited too long. Dean laughed again, feeling a sort of lightening of the weight in his chest at how what would usually have been, at best, a long, boring, exhausting night had turned into a heart-to-heart ending with a goddamn ex-angel climbing into his bed. But not that way, he mentally corrected himself. Never _that_ way.

            “Uh…” Dean began in his usual, eloquent fashion, “I don’t know what _you_ know about uh, platonic, bed-sharing etiquette, but my rules are one: you stay on your side of the bed, two: you don’t hog the damn blankets, three: you get out right away in the morning so Sam does not see this, which leads to four: if you tell Sam about any of this your death will be neither swift, nor painless. You got me?” Cas nodded his agreement solemnly, responding in his deep voice with deadly seriousness, “I got you.” Then, “Thank you again, Dean.”

            “Yeah, don’t mention it,” Dean yawned, suddenly feeling very sleepy and almost…he couldn’t quite identify the feeling, because it really couldn’t be contentment.

            “Good night, Dean,” Cas also yawned, turning onto his side, causing his dark hair to stick up comically, illuminated in the shard of moonlight coming from above. Dean tried to force down the next in what had to be a personal record number of smiles in one night, as he rolled over and tucked the comforter under his chin. “Goodnight, Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean cracked a sleepy eye open the next morning at the sound of the recorded click of a camera shutter, like the one used on… Dean tried to whip around, but his movement was impeded by the octopus limbs of Cas, currently wrapped close around Dean’s body, his soft breath tickling the hair on Dean’s neck. Cas, who was clearly still unconscious, and was apparently very touchy feely in his sleep. And then there was Sam, his fist stuffed in his mouth to stop himself from guffawing out loud, and bending down to get a better angle with his iPhone camera on the canoodling pair in the bottom bunk.

            “What the hell, Sam!” Dean rasped, his voice not quite up to snuff yet after what had actually turned out to be a very good night’s sleep. “Hey, shh, you don’t want to wake the…little angel…” Sam choked out, before descending into a fit of laughter. As Sam tiptoed mock-carefully towards the door, Dean struggled valiantly to free himself from the stranglehold of his currently just waking, and if Dean had his way, soon-to-be _late_ best friend. “You better delete those damn pictures or I swear…” Dean tried to look threatening, a nearly impossible feat when he was still wriggling wildly in his attempts to escape, and sporting a pretty spectacular case of bedhead.

            “Oh, no, no, _no_ ,” Sam waved the phone before tucking it into his pocket, and grabbing his toiletry bag, “I’m keeping these for…well. I haven’t decided yet.” And he skipped out of the room with a laugh, swinging the door shut behind him. Dean closed his eyes, took a deep, calming breath, then grabbed his pillow and beat the barely conscious Castiel soundly about the head with it.

            “Hey! What…ow! Are you…” Castiel squeaked amid the heavy smacks to his person, raising his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself. Dean thwacked him once more between the eyes before settling back on his heels with a huff.

            “ _You_ ,” Dean leveled the squashed pillow at Cas’ deeply confused face, “were supposed to be out of here before Sam woke up and _that_ happened.” He raised the pillow again half-heartedly, but relented when Cas twitched away in fear.

            “What…I…I did not intend to cause you any…discomfort,” Cas apologized quietly. Dean’s head fell back as he felt his anger drain away. Damn it, with Cas giving him those big, sad, puppy dog eyes…now _he_ felt like a dick.

            “Cas…” Dean sighed deeply, completely unable to summon even the remnants of his annoyance. “It’s fine…it…it doesn’t matter. Sam was just being a jerk, and I was…I dunno…embarrassed, I guess.” Why was it that he just couldn’t stay mad at the ex-angel? Dean wondered briefly, before deciding that it was just too damn early to be thinking deep thoughts.

            “Why were you embarrassed?” Cas cocked his head to the side in his patented expression of inquiry.

            “Ah, because…it’s a little weird to share a bed with another dude, that’s why,” Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he did his best to explain social dos and do nots to his clueless friend.

            “Oh, because it can be interpreted in a sexual context,” Cas nodded sagely, as Dean choked on air, “I understand your consternation.”

            Dean had no words to respond.         

            “You always have been rather sensitive to matters of sexuality, especially considering the ambiguity of your own,” and with that comment, Cas rolled rather clumsily out of bed, retrieved his own pouch of toiletries and went off to the row of grungy bathrooms down the hall. Dean sat quietly for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before he determined that he really didn’t want to see his thoughts lined up neatly, and so let them scatter to the winds. He crawled reluctantly out of the warm bed, and did not allow his mind to linger on how the sheets he rustled past held a pleasant scent that was distinct to Castiel. Damn, but things were just getting weird, he thought, shaking himself mentally. Gotta get your head in the game, when vengeful spirits are about, he coached himself, before trudging off after his roommates.

~~~~~

            A little while later, the three men reunited in the hostel’s dining room. Dean, freshly showered and in better spirits, plopped down next to his brother and leaned over to pluck the least burnt bit of bacon from his plate.

            “Don’t bother, Dean,” Sam said without removing his eyes from the laptop screen in front of him.

            “Don’t bother, what?” Dean asked, the paradigm of innocence.

            “I’ve already uploaded the pictures from my phone, so you can give it back.” Sam looked up at his older brother with a cheeky grin. “You can’t delete them now, they’re in the Cloud.”

            Dean threw the phone he’d pickpocketed on the pretense of food-stealing at Sam’s smug face. Sam caught it easily, tucking in back into his pocket and returning his focus to his computer. “Go get some food, and we can talk about what to do next since the classic salt n’ burn option isn’t looking too good.” Dean sighed his agreement, and trudged off to get a meal that ranged from “Let’s say it’s Cajun” to “Salmonella isn’t a big deal.” He returned with what was sure to be a deeply unsatisfying breakfast in a long and varied history of unsatisfying breakfasts, and settled himself next to Cas this time, his own very petty way of expressing annoyance with his brother. Sam didn’t even notice the slight, however, and simply began laying out his ideas.

            “So, we’re fairly sure that we’re hunting one of the three axe-murdered people, either Jim the gardener, Richard the wealthy guy, or Violet the bride. We can agree that Jim seems the obvious choice, since he was the insane killer to begin with, and he’s the one that the local legends pin the haunting on. But, records say that his bones were also burned right away, so that is a point against his case. But we can’t rule him out. However, with no bones to hang on to…”

            “The spirit would’ve had to find something else to latch onto,” Dean finished Sam’s thought through a mouthful of rubbery scrambled egg, “and smart money’s on the murder weapon.”  

            Sam nodded in thoughtful agreement. “That makes sense, I mean, three people died under it in, like, an hour, it definitely could be the culprit.”

            “So, our next move is to locate the axe used to kill three people in the early 1900s?” Cas asked, pushing his only marginally nibbled-at breakfast forward with a faint frown of distaste.

            “Yeah, pretty much,” Dean rubbed at his eyes, not relishing the idea of the extensive, boring, and dusty research that would almost certainly entail. “And I’m sure that won’t be hard at all.”

            “Finding the axe would be ideal, but another thing to do, that actually may also help us find the damn thing, would be figuring out more about what really happened that night.” Sam speared an untouched strip of bacon from Cas’ still mostly-full plate. “The locals may not tell the whole story, and who knows? Maybe we’ll find out it wasn’t even Jim at all, and then we can go back to our old favorite, salt n’ burn.”

            “Which is still a no-go, unless we find some way to avoid the cops. I mean, with our records, we can’t afford to be run through the system. And I for one don’t particularly want to make a return trip to maximum security, even though the cafeteria was a damn five-star establishment compared to this,” Dean made his point by stabbing at a blackened sausage and holding up the now-dented fork as evidence. Sam cringed in sympathy.

            “Okay, so we need some decent food, pronto,” Sam lowered his voice so as not to offend the hostel staff, “I’ll go into town and grab us some grub. Also, I can swing by the cemetery, see what it looks like during the day, just in case we have to do some day-time digging. And you two can poke around here. See if there’s anything else that could help us figure out what happened back then. Maybe one of the staff knows something, or knows someone who knows something.” Sam shrugged as he stood, and stuffed his laptop in his bag. “I’ll see you guys in a while,” Sam waved goodbye, and Dean waved back halfheartedly. He wondered if he closed his eyes and wished really hard, this would turn into one of those cases where he got to, you know, actually _hunt_ something.

            “Dean, where shall we begin?” Cas inquired, crushing Dean’s admittedly futile hopes.

            “Well, let’s see if someone at the desk knows anything…” And hope that it’s not Emily from yesterday, Dean prayed silently.

            Of course, it wasn’t very likely that Dean’s good luck was suddenly going to spring to life now, so when they reached the lobby, they saw were met with a familiar face organizing the rack of candy behind the desk.

            “Hey, guys! Can I help you with something?” Emily chirped, far too perky for Dean’s food-deprivation-induced black mood. Dean elbowed Cas none-too-gently in the ribs when the ex-angel remained silent, apparently expecting Dean to speak.

            “Oh, um…” Cas cleared his throat, and then squared his shoulders, in what Dean recognized with a mild flush of pride as an emulation of his own “walk of confidence”. “We were speaking yesterday about how this hostel may be –”

            “Haunted?” Emily finished Cas’ sentence excitedly. Dean’s head almost exploded from the pressure of keeping his eyes from rolling. God, why was everyone in this town so enamored with the idea of a goddamn axe-murdering ghost? Why?

            “Yes, me and my…uh…husband…” Cas shifted awkwardly at the lie, Dean froze briefly in shock. Hearing the words coming from Cas’ mouth made the whole thing, if possible, even weirder. Dean swore to himself on the Impala’s transmission that Sam would never _ever_ hear a single word of this whole ridiculous charade.

            “We were wondering,” Cas continued, “if you would know of any information about the history of the building or its late inhabitants.”

            “Well, I mean, I don’t actually know much myself…did you try the library?” Emily pinched her lips together as she thought.

            “Yeah,” Dean answered gruffly, “found bupkis, courtesy of a big-ass fire that destroyed pretty much everything.”

            “Oh,” Emily’s brows drew together in consternation, then suddenly flew up as she realized something and began to nearly bounce up and down with excitement. “Oh! But we might have something better! _Might_ ,” she cautioned with a wagging finger. She spun around, and dug around in a drawer full of something jingly and metallic, and emerged holding an old-fashioned-looking key triumphantly. Then she gestured with a mischievous smile for them to follow her behind a door marked “Employees Only.” Dean and Cas exchanged glances, then shrugged and followed her down the hall and then up, up, up more stairs than Dean cared to count.

            “I’m probably, actually, certainly not supposed to show you guys this but…well, you seem like a really nice couple, and I just…” Emily hesitated, before plowing on, “my grandpa always used to tell me stories about ghosts, but he said they weren’t just stories, that they were _real_ , but everyone, even my parents, thought he was just a crazy old guy, y’know? And so I always laughed them off too, but now…” She trailed off, her bright features darkened by a melancholy that was all too familiar to Dean.

            “When did he pass?” he asked in a much softer tone than before.

            “Oh! Just last summer. How did you…?”

            “I, uh, I’ve lost people too. A lot of people, and I know the look…and how it feels.”

            Emily managed a weak smile, and nodded, seeming to steel her resolve. She looked Dean straight in the eye and asked, “Can you help? Can you stop whatever is happening here?”

            “Yes, yes we can. It’s actually…what we do,” Dean assured her, watching her reaction carefully. Telling people the truth about their job rarely went well, but on occasion…the truth really was the best thing to tell.

            “Okay!” Emily twittered, suddenly back to her perky self. “Let’s go!” With great excitement, Emily inserted the key into the lock of a wooden door that looked exactly like every other door in the hostel except for the “Do Not Enter” sign tacked to it, and swung it open. She bounded excitedly up the dark, incredibly steep staircase that lay behind it and Cas and Dean followed carefully up what looked like extremely unsafe steps.

            “There’s some sort of ownership debate going on, you know,” Emily called back when she reached what appeared to be a darkened landing at the top, “a family owns the hostel now, and someone wants to sell out their part or whatever, so until it’s settled nothing can be moved or sold or anything…I don’t know. But I _do_ know, that if you want to find out about this house, or the people who lived in it…this is the place to be.”

            Dean and Cas breached the top of the stairs and found themselves in an outstandingly dusty attic stuffed to its ancient rafters with boxes and stacks of old paper and broken furniture and mysterious objects covered in thick off-white sheets.

            “Whoa,” Dean sneezed at the dust.

            “Perfect,” Cas smiled at Emily.

            Emily beamed. “I don’t feel like this place has been cleaned out for decades, probably longer.” Emily grinned even wider, and gestured expansively to the wall-to-wall clutter. “So, if you want to know about the history of this house, it is, fairly literally, all here. I guess I’ll just…leave you to it then?” Emily’s tone lilted upwards into a question.

            “Yeah,” Dean sighed, the momentary excitement at a new discovery abated, replaced with the realization that he was still going to be spending the foreseeable future digging through musty old things.

            “And we thank you, very much,” Cas smiled kindly, somehow having better manners than Dean, despite the twenty some years more the latter had had to develop them.

            “No problem!” Emily giggled, “Now good luck, you two! I’ll be back to check up on you in a while…Don’t get up to any funny business!” She winked, and fluttered back down the stairs, as Dean once again forgot how to breathe properly at the reference to his and Cas’ “relationship”.

~~~~~

            Either an infinity or an hour later, by Dean or Cas’ respective calculations, Sam called to say he had found food, but he had also, by way of a happy accident, found the county historical society.

            “They’ve got loads of old newspapers on microfilm, as well as other historical documents like letters and pamphlets… All of the clues we need could just be sitting on their shelves!” Sam sounded _so_ excited and proud about his discovery, that Dean was positively thrilled that he got to one-up his little brother with his own treasure trove of info.

            “That sounds great Sammy…almost as great as finding out that the site of the haunting has an attic full of the personal effects of most of the people who lived and died in this place.”

            “Yea- wait. Wait. What?”

            “Uh-huh, Cas and I worked our charms on that Emily girl we met yesterday, and she showed us this attic full of what I’m sure will be really useful stuff. But, y’know, old microfilmed newspapers that may or may not contain any relevant info…that’s pretty cool too.” Dean smirked widely.

            Sam was fairly certain he could hear Dean’s smirk through the phone. “You know what, Dean, it _is_ cool, and I bet there will be something useful. And….and at least I won’t be doing my research on an empty stomach.” Sam smirked now, knowing he’d hit his brother’s most vulnerable spot.

            “Hey, no, we’re not going to be either, because you are going to _bring_ us food.” Dean tried to keep the panic out of his voice. No food? That was going too far.

            “I dunno, that seems like a pretty big waste of time, driving all the way back there…”

            “Sammy. Don’t screw with me when I’m hungry, you know you’ll regret it.”

            “Fine. I’ll play delivery boy, but then I get to see this attic too.”

            “Fine.” Dean was annoyed for a moment, before realizing that this meant there would be another person, a person who was _not_ himself, sifting through the gargantuan mess of debris, and that this was a very good thing.

            “Okay, I’ll see you in less than an hour.”

            “See ya.” Dean hung up, then turned around and jerked back violently in surprise, knocking over a stack of hat boxes onto his foot when he found Emily standing right behind him.

            “Oops! Sorry!” she threw up her hands in mock surrender, as Dean grabbed his injured foot. “I didn’t mean to startle you! I just finished my shift, and came to check up on how you’re doing!”

            “We’re doing fine,” Castiel answered for them both, appearing behind Dean and reaching out to hold him steady as Dean rubbed his wounded toes morosely. “But…” Cas looked to Dean for guidance as he continued, “I believe that we could use another pair of hands if you are interested.”

            “OMG! Yes! That’d be so cool! How can I help?” Emily almost vibrated with excitement, and Dean couldn’t decide whether to smile indulgently, because she was being pretty cute really, or to frown discouragingly because she shouldn’t be so enthusiastic to get in the middle of something that could very easily turn fatal at the drop of a dime.

            “Well…” Cas, apparently now out of his depth, stared pointedly at Dean until he answered.

            “Uh, we have just been, pretty much, digging through stuff, and putting anything that looks like it could be useful in a pile there…” Dean pointed to one ragged cardboard box sitting next to the stairs.

            “Oh…I see,” Emily seemed less excited now. “And how’s that working out?”

             Dean was feeling grumpy now. Seriously, gung-ho-for-ghosts girl was judging their work? Excuse her, they were _professionals_.

            “It’s working out awesome. I mean,” Dean scoffed slightly, “how would _you_ do it?”

            “Well, I would use at least a rudimentary system of organization,” Emily began, suddenly all business. “With the largest objects starting here,” she gestured expansively to one side of the attic, “down to the smaller objects over here,” she indicated the other side, “with boxes to be sorted through, and any sort of papers to be read in the middle.”  She paused. “That’s what you’re looking for, right? Like, old newspapers, or something?”

            “Yeah…yeah. I mean, anything that could help us figure out what exactly we’re up against. A diary or a journal is the jackpot in situations like this. Oh, and, y’know,” Dean tried for a casual tone, “if you happen to stumble upon an axe up here…”

            “An axe? You mean _the_ axe? You think the murder weapon might be up here?!” Emily seemed quite thrilled and not at all worried by the idea.

            “Uh…probably not…but you never know I guess…” Dean shrugged, his eyebrows raised. His internal jury was still out on whether this girl was awesome or crazy.

            “Well, let’s get to it!” Emily mimed pushing up imaginary sleeves with a wide grin, and then nearly dove into the nearest pile of junk.

~~~~~

            When Sam called an hour later, saying he’d arrived bearing groceries, the call of food was so strong Dean nearly broke his neck careening down the stairs towards him. Cas and Emily followed at a calmer pace, and once Dean had torn into one of Sam’s plastic bags and surfaced with a deli box of fried chicken, the four trouped back up the many stairs to show Sam what they’d found, and the somewhat mediocre beginnings of their attempts to tackle the clutter. Sam was suitably impressed, and immediately began to paw through one of what turned out to be an innumerable number of boxes of sundry papers that filled the attic to nearly the rafters.

            “Dude…this stuff is from the 20s…” Sam tugged a yellowed envelope from the pile. “Does the name ‘Gerald Raymond’ mean anything to anyone?” he asked, pointing at the faded address.

            Dean and Cas shook their heads. Emily frowned, then piped up, “No, but I don’t know about who owned this place before it was bought by the family who owns it now, and turned it into a hostel. Mr. Benson just said that this attic hadn’t been cleaned out since then and us employees were supposed to stay out.” She smiled sheepishly at the admission. “Mr. Benson’s family owns this place, but he doesn’t come down often, he’s usually out of town on business.”

            “Would this Mr. Benson know about the people who owned this house before him, or even about the MacArthurs?” Sam asked.

            Emily shrugged, “I dunno, maybe. Probably.”

            “Hmm. We should probably talk to him. I mean, if he even knows just a little bit, it would be more than the squat we know now. It could help sort through this mess, and find what we’re actually looking for.” Dean and Cas nodded their agreement. “But until then,” Sam smiled almost happily at the disaster area laid in front of him, and Dean wondered if his brother was actually a maniac, or just a gigantic nerd, “let’s see what we can do with this attic.”

~~~~~

            By the end of the day, the landscape of the attic had undergone a radical makeover. A very sizable chunk of the place was now roughly organized by the size and material of its contents, with stacks of furniture lining one side, down to lampshades and throw pillows on the other. In the middle, there stood a relative mountain of boxes and packing crates and bundles of newspapers.

            They stood surveying their work with a note of pride, Emily especially seemed quite pleased with their work. Then she glanced down at her watch and her happiness drained away.

            “Oh my gosh! It’s past ten! We worked right through dinner! I was having such a good time I didn’t even notice! It’s so late! I have to get home!” Emily was almost screeching as she fluttered about for a moment before dashing towards the staircase. She whipped around when she reached it and stared at the trio of men, still standing in the middle of the moderately organized chaos.

            “Hey, so, um, you all kind of have to…leave,” Emily told them, wincing slightly.

            “Oh, uh, yeah of course,” Sam smiled kindly and began to shepherd Cas, who went willingly, and Dean, who looked like he was going to argue, towards the stairs.

            “I’m really sorry, guys, but I mean, I’m not really supposed to have let you up here in the first place, much less let you dig around and stuff, and well, I just can’t leave you here at night to do whatever when I’m not even here,” she babbled, “not that I don’t trust you, cause I do, you’re all like, too cool for school ya know, but I could get _fired_ …”

            “Hey, it’s fine,” Sam patted her shoulder calmingly, “we understand. We don’t want to get you in trouble. Right, Dean?” Sam asked his brother very pointedly.

            “Yeah, of course we don’t,” Dean grumbled moodily, much to Emily’s dismay.

            “Thank you again, very much, I cannot express how helpful you have been, we are very grateful,” Cas told Emily earnestly, flashing Dean a sharp glare. Emily let out a giggle, her happiness restored.

            “No problem! I mean, you guys are trying to hunt down a ghost and save lives, right? It’s the least I can do!”

            Emily led them through twisting staircases and hallways, but stopped just short of the door to the lobby. “Hey, Barry’s on duty now and it’ll be a little hard to explain to him what you all were doing behind the Employee door so…” she held open a side door and instructed them. “go down this hall and take a left, and you’ll find the staircase to your rooms.”

            “Thanks,” Dean said, recognizing that he was being an asshole, and that Emily really was being more helpful and nice than they had any right to expect. “You’ve been great. Will we see you tomorrow?”

            “Oh yeah! My shift starts at 8, so I can get you back up there bright and early, okay?”

            “Sounds great.”

            “See you guys tomorrow!” Emily chirped goodbye as she skipped down the hall.

            “See ya!” The boys said in unison.

            “So,” Sam turned to his companions. “What do you want to do?”

            “Well, we could always take an early night,” Dean suggested with a yawn.

            “Dude, it’s like a quarter after ten. And we got a good, six, almost seven hours of sleep last night. You can’t _actually_ be tired,” Sam raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips.

            “Are you telling me _you’re_ not? Man, we just spent the whole day dragging ancient, dusty, heavy crap around an ancient, dusty, rat-dropping-filled attic. I think that we deserve more than one good night’s sleep.”

            Sam looked like he was going to argue, but when he was unable to suppress a massive yawn, he decided that, no, another good night’s sleep wouldn’t really be that bad at all. So, he followed his brother and Cas up to their room without a fuss.

            Just as he was unlocking their door, Dean seemed to remember something and blurted out, “Hey, tonight I get –”

            “No, nope, no way, the top bunk is _mine_ ,” Sam cut his brother off with a wave of his finger before Dean could even make his demands.

            “But we switch off! That’s how we do it,” Dean argued.

            “No, it’s not,” Sam maintained.

            “Hey, but, no…” Dean insisted weakly.

            “I do not particularly wish to sleep with Sam,” Cas decided at that moment to contribute. Dean threw his hands over his face in a painful combination of embarrassment, defeat, and a small prickle of…relief? No, why would he be relieved that Cas didn’t want… Nope, he told himself, we are just not going down that road.

            “No offense intended, Sam,” Cas continued. “But your snoring and rolling about were quite evident even from the lower bunk, and I have no desire to experience those phenomena up close.”

            “Alright, then it’s settled. I get the top bunk. Dean, you get the bottom bunk…and Cas.” Sam bit back a full-on leer, but couldn’t help grinning suggestively. “That’s just how the scissors fall.” Sam smiled proudly at his truly awful pun.

            “But…I _won_ ,” Dean wondered if punching his brother in the face for his rude implications and terrible humor would be an overreaction.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke up in the dead of night, tucked into the fetal position to fend off a cold so severe for a moment his heart pounded wildly, expecting a confrontation with a nasty ghost. However, he quickly came to the realization that all of the sheets and blankets were currently residing in a very comfortable – and _warm_ – looking burrito beside him, with a familiar puff of dark hair poking out the top. Dammit, _of course_ Cas turned out to be a blanket hog, in addition to being a sleep-cuddler. Dean reached out carefully, getting a firm grip on the hem of the top blanket, and tugged once, gently. No result. He adjusted his grip, and pulled the blanket towards him, not at all gently. Cas just grumbled in his sleep and rolled even further away. _Dammit_ , Dean mentally reiterated. He was goddamn cold and just not in the goddamn mood.

            He began to pry at the top layer of blankets in the bundle-of-Cas, trying to yank something, anything, loose, and after a minute he had been forced to wrap an arm around Cas to drag at the edge of the comforter currently pinned down under his friend’s surprisingly significant weight. Suddenly, with an unhappy murmur, Cas rolled even further away, only this time, he took Dean’s arm, and thus, the rest of Dean, with him.

            “Oomph!” Dean had the wind knocked out of him by Cas’ elbow as Dean was forcibly pulled onto the ex-angel’s back. Cas’ face was pressed into his pillow and Dean’s face was pressed into Cas’ hair and Dean was basically embracing Cas while on top of him and Dean was just tired and _completely done with this._

            “Dammit, Cas, wake up and let go of me!” Dean hissed in Cas’ ear as he tore his arm out from under him, flipping them both back over none-too-gently.

            “Please, no!” Cas half sobbed, half whispered as his bleary, and Dean now saw, teary eyes flew open. His blue eyes, rimmed with red searched wildly for a moment before finding Dean. “Wha- Dean? Where…” Cas blinked and stared at Dean as he struggled back into consciousness.

            “You took all the damn covers, man,” Dean grabbed back some of the now loosened sheets aggressively.

            “My ap-ap-apologies,” Cas stuttered in a whisper. Aw, shit, Dean realized, as he understood the situation, suddenly feeling like a complete tool.

            “Hey, Cas, were you, uh…” Dean didn’t even know how to phrase his question.

            But Cas seemed to understand, and quickly answered, his voice still trembling, “It was a nightmare, yes.”

            “Ah.” Dean didn’t know what to do. There was no manual on how, or whether he even should, comfort a fallen angel who wakes up crying from a nightmare. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I woke you up then, eh?” Dean tried for a joke. Cas tried to huff a laugh, but it sounded more like a strangled sob, and Dean just felt worse. Maybe he should ignore it, and let him go back to sleep. A muffled sniffle from the other side of the bed led Dean to believe otherwise, and he felt a sort of clenching in his chest at such a wrecked sound coming from someone who used to be so powerful.

            “Cas, do you…do you want to talk about it?” Dean whispered gently, trying to remember what he’d done when Sam was little and got nightmares. Dean imagined that Cas’ experience now was somewhat like that of a child: it was completely new, and very frightening.

            “I…I don’t know if I can. It’s just…it’s horror. But this one…it was more specific. But I…Dean. You don’t have to hear this…it’s shameful for me to be so fearful. I’ll just…” Cas made to turn away, but Dean reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer instead.

            “You listen to me. There’s nothing ‘shameful’ about nightmares, okay? We all get ‘em. I told you I can’t sleep because of the things running around my head. Well, sometimes I don’t _want_ to sleep because at least when I’m awake I can tell what’s real and what’s not. That’s why nightmares are so friggin’ scary, because they feel real. And for us, I mean, our lives are literally the stuff of other people’s nightmares, so imagine how bad _our_ nightmares must be in comparison.” Dean gave Cas’ arm a squeeze. “So I won’t have any more of this ‘shame’ crap, okay?” Dean ordered more than asked.

            “Okay,” Cas’ acquiesced in a small voice.

            “So…you want to tell me what was so, uh, ‘specific’ about this particular nightmare?”

            “Yes, I do.” Cas sat quietly for a moment, then finally began, “Usually the nightmares are more…surreal. But this time, it was…Well, we were up in that attic, and you…. I just turned my back for a second, and then when I looked around you were on the ground but in pieces and the ghost had gotten to you and I tried to heal you but I couldn’t and I just couldn’t put you back together and it was all my fault –” Cas’ voice got higher and louder and faster as he recounted his dream, and Dean had to shush him before he woke Sam up.

            “Hey, shh, it’s okay, there’s no ghost. I mean, there _is_ a ghost, but not here, like, not _here_ here, and I’m definitely completely in one piece, so it’s all good, okay?”

            “But it’s not okay, because the worst part of the nightmare is real in that I would be unable to heal you if you were injured, and what…what would I do? What am I? What use am I to anyone, to you?”

            “Hey, okay, dude, just…” Dean had no answers, he had no words of comfort, and so he crossed the foot of rumpled sheets between them and pulled his friend into a warm, tight hug. Cas froze for a moment, and then, as when Dean had offered to share his bed, Cas leaped forward and clutched at Dean’s back as if he would renege on his offered comfort if he waited too long.

            Dean rubbed soothing circles on Cas’ back, allowing his sleepy mind to push thoughts like “what the actual fuck are you doing right now dude” and “when did you turn into such a friggin’ girl” into a drawer and slam it shut with the passing rationalization that “what happens in the bottom bunk stays in the bottom bunk.”

            Dean let the words roll around in his head for a while before finally telling the faintly sniffling angel, “You are my friend, and you are part of this family. That is what you are, and it’s what you always will be. And it’s up to you if that’s enough or not.”

            Cas’ breathing stilled on Dean’s collarbone before he whispered, “It is enough, Dean.” Then Dean felt Cas’ lips turn up in smile before the ex-angel asked, “is this some more of that ‘girly emotional shit’ from last night?”

            Dean had to bury his face in Cas’ shoulder to muffle his laughter, as he shook with repressed mirth. “Uh, yeah,” Dean choked out, trying desperately to remain quiet and failing, “this definitely falls into that category. It seems to be becoming a nightly thing with us.” Dean rolled away, back to his side of the bed, releasing Cas as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to keep his chuckles from escaping and waking the sleeping giant above them.

           Cas looked over at Dean with a soft expression on his face that Dean couldn’t quite categorize. “Thank you for your kindness. It is truly, greatly appreciated.”

            “Uh, yeah, don’t mention it.” Dean waved his hand dismissively. “So…you alright to go back to sleep now? Cause I need my beauty rest,” he winked at Cas even though in the near complete dark he couldn’t possibly see it. But Cas laughed nonetheless and Dean could see the vague shape of him nodding in the slice of moonlight from above.

            “I’m alright now. Goodnight, Dean.”

            “Goodnight, Cas.”

            And when Dean woke up the next morning and felt a warm arm thrown over him, it took him a few minutes to come to his senses and remember he should be annoyed, but even then, he didn’t throw Cas off. He just waited another minute, before disentangling himself with a sigh, and climbing awkwardly over his friend, forcing his mind away from more dangerous roads of thought onto the safe ground of idle wondering whether there would be any hot water this morning.

~~~~~

            The trio reunited once again in their room, opting to avoid the dining room downstairs and instead dig into the food Sam had purchased the day before, amounting to powdery packaged donuts for Dean and Cas, and some fairly fresh fruit for Sam.

            “So, I was thinking…” Sam began.

            “Whoa, there, be careful, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Dean interrupted with a self-satisfied smirk.

            “Shut up. And, that is one of the oldest and most overused jokes in the whole universe, just so you know.”

            “You’re a joke.”

            “You’re a –”

            Cas broke up what was sure to be a childish and inane bout of insults and name-calling by choking rather violently on a donut. After a few minutes of back-patting and a glass of water, Sam and Dean ascertained that Cas was, in fact, fine. The thought that Cas had purposefully distracted the brothers from their admittedly ridiculous quarrel crossed Dean’s mind, and he smiled slightly. Maybe Cas had been right when he said that being their third wheel was a good thing, maybe they did need the extra stability.

            “Ok, as I was saying…” Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, silently asking if he was going to continue his pestering, to which Dean raised his hands in the universal symbol of peace, and settled back in his chair. “One of us should go and find that Mr. Benson, you know, pretext as a reporter or something, and see what he knows about the history of the place. He could be a dead end, or, if his family really has owned this place for decades, maybe he’ll know a lot.”

            “Sounds good, I’ll go,” Dean clapped his hands together and stood up as if the matter was settled.

            “Uh, no, I’ll go.” Sam also stood up, purposefully towering over his big brother.

            “Right, you go, and _I’ll_ stay with the crappy dusty old newspapers and shit, I don’t think so.”

            “You know what? Let’s decide it the usual way.”

            “Nuh-uh, I remember the last time, no more rock paper scissors, you’re too…devious.”

            “Dev-? Oh, come on, Dean.”

            “I suggest…a coin toss. Completely fair, no cheating.”

            “Fine.”

            “Fine. Winner gets to go find this Mr. Benson dude.”

            “I call tails.”

            “No, I want tails.”

            “Fine, you get tails.”

            “Fine. Cas? Here, you do it.” Dean handed Cas a quarter, which Cas stared at.

            “You throw it up in the air, catch it in your palm, and slap it on the back of your other hand,” Dean explained patiently.

            This proved to be entirely too many steps for Cas, who ended up throwing the coin too high in the air where it hit the ceiling and then bounced around the room before somehow managing to land on the floor directly in front of him.

            “Heads,” Sam crowed triumphantly, “I guess I will see you later.” Sam grinned, and leaned down to start gathering up his things.

            “Ah fine, dammit. C’mon Cas,” Dean shoved at Cas’ shoulder, “Let’s go downstairs and see if Emily’s here yet.”

            Emily was not there yet. And because Dean was never exactly brimming with patience, he decided to take a wander around the first floor of the hostel and left Cas on a couch in the lobby. After a few minutes he returned to find Cas as he’d left him, and still no Sam.

            “Hey, Cas, where’s Sam? He’s seriously not down yet?” Dean peeked outside and saw no sign of his eminently spottable brother.

            “He was, but he said he forgot something upstairs, and would be back down in a minute,” Cas answered, not glancing up from whatever he was reading. He then asked in his typical candid tone, “Dean, would you say that I am a slender, delicate belle or am I a wide-hipped, curvaceous beauty?”

            Dean froze, barely managing to splutter out “ _What_?”

            “Am I a slender –” Cas began to repeat, before Dean interrupted.

            “ _No_ , Cas, I mean, _what_ are you reading?”

            “Uh…” Cas checked the bright cover of the magazine he was perusing, “Cosmo.” Dean threw his head back in a mixture of defeat and amusement.

            “But, Dean, what if I wish to be a blossoming summertime beauty?” Cas attempted to inquire as Dean stepped forward and wrested the crinkled magazine from his grip.

            “Cas, you can’t read crap like this,” Dean grumbled, slamming the ancient Cosmo back onto the lounge table.

            “Why not?”

            “Because it’s for chicks, dude!”

            “Your personal standards for gender are so rigid, I am often entirely confused by them,” Cas crossed his arms grumpily.

            “My…what?” Dean asked, nonplussed.

            “I mean to say, if I had chosen a female vessel, am I to assume you would have no problem with my perusal of that magazine?”

            “Uh, well, no, cause you’d be a…” Dean’s eyes glazed over slightly as he took a moment to imagine a universe where Castiel, angel of the Lord, had come to him as a woman. “Whoa,” he exclaimed, unable to contain his flurry of confused emotion and thought, “you could, like, have done…what. That’s…that would’ve been…” his words choked and died, as he realized he did _not_ want to go down that mental path. In fact, at this point, the number of mental paths he did not want to go down was reaching a point where he was basically standing still. This is ridiculous, he moaned internally, everything is just ridiculous.

            “Gathering from your very intelligent response,” Cas raised a snarky eyebrow, “if I had manifested in a female form, you would have reacted rather differently to me.”

            “Well,” Dean responded weakly, “I mean, it would’ve depended on how hot you were, I guess…” he trailed off as he realized what he had just said. He repressed the wild urge to shoot himself in the foot in order to escape this incredibly uncomfortable situation.

            “Hmmm…then, I suppose, the nature of our relationship would, at this point, perhaps be rather different?” Cas questioned softly. Dean examined the minutiae of his boot laces, while his mouth hung open, trying to wrap his mind around something he really should have realized a long time ago. Cas probably wasn’t “a dude” in the human sense, so…whoa. The thoroughly perplexed hunter was rescued from having to respond to the ex-angel by the well-timed appearance of his brother. Dean jumped up hurriedly, bounding over to Sam with a slightly crazed smile.

            “Saved by the Sasquatch,” he quipped in relief.

            “What?” Sam raised his eyebrows, then rolled his eyes, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

            “Sam,” Castiel addressed the younger Winchester in a very serious tone, “While I recognize both you and your brother’s penchant for plaid, you did wear that shirt only two days ago, and being a fashion repeater is a very serious crime.”

            Sam blinked.

            “Do you wish to bring the fearsome fashion police down upon us?” Cas asked, still completely serious.

            “ _What_?” Sam asked in an incredulous tone eerily similar to that of his brother.

            “He’s been reading Cosmo,” Dean explained with a much put-upon sigh.

            After the Winchesters managed to explain to the overly-literal ex-angel that the fashion police were not, in fact, a real force of justice, and there was nothing to fear, Sam bid his brother and friend goodbye, and headed out in the Impala to track down Mr. Benson. As he left, a bright and cheery Emily passed him in the foyer with a smile.

            “Hey guys!” she chirped, waving.

            “Hello, Emily,” Cas returned her greeting gravely.

            “Hey, Em,” Dean also replied, finding her early morning perkiness to be equal parts endearing and irritating.

            “So, I assume you two just want to go on up and get to it!” Emily said in a lower tone as she stowed her things behind the counter and snagged the attic key.

            “That would be greatly appreciated,” Cas answered.

            Emily led them back through the many mind-numbingly identical hallways and up the stairs, back to the wretched old attic that Dean had already developed a pretty healthy aversion to. As soon as Emily left them with one last grin and a promise to return and help them during her lunch break at noon, Dean began to complain to an ever-patient Cas about what a rat hole this was, and why did they have to do the boring stuff anyway, and that he was hungry dammit. By the time Emily had bounded back up the stairs around lunchtime, Dean still had not exhausted his list of complaints, but Cas had chosen to find his friend’s endless bellyaching amusing, and besides, it actually made him feel a great deal better to know that sometimes just the daily struggles of being a human were hard for Dean too.

            “So, any luck?” Emily asked, kneeling down next to one of the innumerable boxes of random detritus, and began to pick through its contents.

            “Nope…” Dean scrabbled at the meager remains of tape sealing a cardboard box, “Oh look, it’s more clothes!” He tossed an old plaid skirt into the air with a huff of annoyance. The skirt fell back to Earth, but it was followed by a lone piece of paper. Castiel reached out from his patch of rough hardwood floor to snatch the paper from the air. His eyebrows pulled together as he examined it, tilting the sheet so it caught the weak light cast by one lone bulb hanging from the ceiling.

            “Dean!” he said suddenly. Cas’ hand shot out to grab Dean’s arm before he tossed the box of old clothes into the teeming pile of useless items that Dean had taken to calling the “Fuckton of Shitty Shit”, a name that Castiel could not in good conscience bring himself to use.

            “Look!” Cas shoved the paper an inch from Dean’s nose, and pointed enthusiastically at the neat cursive signature at the bottom.

            “Vi-oh-let…Jackson? _Violet_ _Jackson_!” Dean leaped to his feet in excitement. “But this…this is a diary entry! From the girl who was killed!” He dropped back down to his knees to tear back into the previously discarded box of clothing. After violently ripping through its contents, and then after a more careful inspection of every item by Dean, Cas, and Emily, the trio was disappointed to find nothing more of the diary in the box than the one, lone page.

            “Well, where’s the rest of it, for fuck’s sake?”

            “I think perhaps the better question is: Why is there just one piece of a diary from nearly a century past in this one random container of what appears to be much more modern clothing?”           

            “Hmm…that is a good question,” Emily tapped her chin in thought. She snapped her fingers as something occurred to her, “It seems really weird to have put it in there, right? Like it was a place that no one would look for it…? So…maybe that’s because it was _hidden_!”

            “Hey, yeah, that’s a really good idea…” Dean trailed off as he squinted at the page, attempting to decode the looping cursive of a decades-dead axe-murdered chick. Emily beamed at the compliment.

          “There’s some stuff about some lady Mrs. Mathers…sounds like, oh, she was Violet’s manager or something? I don’t know, she was bossy as hell, whoever she was, apparently…man, this Violet had quite a bit of a temper, and she sure didn’t hold anything back in here… aha!” Dean flourished the paper as he read triumphantly, “Jim’s gardens are beginning to blossom. However, for obvious reasons, I have to avoid them now, and can only enjoy their beauty from the safety of an upper balcony. However, I was quite positively drawn to the solace of the roses this afternoon, and when I finally couldn’t help myself, I went…and was discovered by Jim. It was the same as last time.” Dean frowned as he read that last sentence on the page, and flipped the paper over, as if hoping the unfortunately blank other side would expand on the details of the front.

            “This diary could be integral in solving this case,” Cas stated quietly.

            “Yup,” Dean pinched his brow.

            “But this is only a part of it.”

            “Yup.”

            “We must unearth the rest of it from this chaotic shambles of an attic.”

            “Yup.”

            “That will be difficult.”

            Dean sighed, and responded in a tone somewhat snarkier than was necessary, “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”  

            “You have a constellation of freckles across your left cheek that is a nearly exact match to the arrangement of the stars constituting Ursa Major,” Cas told him earnestly.

            Dean did a double take. “I… I didn’t mean literally tell me something…I…” Dean felt like his brain was having a bit of a short-circuit. And possibly his heart too, it was jumping around in a really weird way at Cas’ big-eyed innocent expression. Before Dean was forced to find an actual response, he was saved by Emily, who had a hand clamped over her mouth, but seemed to have become unable to contain her joy, and let out a rather piercing squeal of delight.

            “Oh. My. _God_. You guys are _so_ cute together!” She bounced up and down in place, fanning her face furiously, apparently unable to physically stand the cuteness in front of her.

            “Thank you,” Cas replied, smiling serenely at her, while Dean cheeks flushed a deeper red than they had since adolescence.

            “Right, okay, yeah…back to business,” Dean addressed the floor, unable to look directly at either of his companions at the current moment. “We need to find the rest of this diary…and I actually think I might know what’s going on here.”

            Cas and Emily looked at Dean with interest, Emily still sporting an ear-to-ear grin, and Cas surveying Dean with even more than his usually intense attention.

            “Sam and I worked a case in Illinois back when, with this poltergeist haunting a family who’d bought this old farm, right? There was a nasty thing with a rusty tractor and rake…” Dean shuddered slightly at the memory, “but the important part was, the ghost hid some of these old documents that ended up being really important in solving the case all around the barn, in weird nooks and crannies…I think that it was part of its M.O., to confuse everyone, and try and get us off the right track…”

            “But, if the ghost knew that the papers could lead you to it, why didn’t it just destroy them?”

            “I dunno, but Sam thinks that it was, like, part of the damn thing’s deep-seated desire to finally be put to rest or some shit like that, he thought that since they were people once, maybe part of them does want it to all finally, actually be over…who knows. At any rate, we found the bastard and salted and burned him. Bottom line for me was that it was gone.” Dean shrugged.

            During this exchange, Emily’s jaw had nearly hit the floor, and Dean realized in a facepalm-inducing moment that she had probably only sort of believed their story about a ghost at all, and had probably been humoring them a decent bit. But now…

            “Oh. My. God,” she exclaimed for the second time in as many minutes. “You and your brother…you, you really have actually seen ghosts before? And fought them? And _killed_ them?” She squeaked.

            “Um, yeah…” Dean held up his hands cautiously, prepared to do his best to avert any possible panic attacks or freak outs on Emily’s part. “But that’s a good thing, it means we know what we’re doing!” Dean tried for a halfhearted attempt at a comforting smile. Emily stared at him in shock for a moment, before bursting into what was, somehow, and even bigger smile than before, shrieking, “That’s _awesome_!”

            “Oh. Okay…Uh,” Dean shuffled uncomfortably. “Sure, yeah.”

            Cas smiled pleasantly. “Yes, they are fairly…awesome.”

            “So, if you know all about ghosts…how do you, like, you know, get rid of them?”

            “Well, I will tell you all about ghost hunting and all manner of creepy crawly nasties, if you help us organize a search for the rest of this diary in this clusterfuck of an attic.”

            “Deal!” Emily happily clicked into her professional mode as she quickly set up a strategy to perform an exhaustive search of _everything_ , from the drawers of the mothball-filled armoire to the spider web-ensconced rafters.

            As they shook out and inspected every article of clothing they’d acquired so far, Dean told Emily how to keep a circle of salt around your bed when you sleep, or to put lines of it in front of all the doors and windows to a room you’re trying to keep ghost free. They struck gold inside a mud-stained pair of overalls, with not one but two whole pages of Violet’s diary. However, they only contained more context-less details of her personal life that shed little light on what they’d already found. Cas consoled Dean that the pages would make more sense as part of the bigger picture of her complete diary.

            Dean explained how keeping an iron poker handy could save your life over a picnic basket of delicious homemade sandwiches, courtesy of the kind-hearted Emily, who had not been deaf to Dean’s hunger-based whining the previous day.

            Dean found a new source of grumbling when his back started to twinge after beginning to haul the fairly significant pile of boxes containing old books from one side of the room to the other, where the light was better.

            “Here let me help –” Emily said trying to reach for the clearly very heavy box currently beleaguering the older Winchester.

            “No, no, I’ve got it, you just go and start looking through these damn things for more diary pages. You too,” Dean instructed Cas, batting his hands away from the box he’d been about to move.

            “Well, I guess he doesn’t need us,” Emily joked lightly, as she and Cas retired to the sunniest patch of attic to begin the next part of their search.

            “No, he doesn’t,” Cas answered, his expression darkening.

            “Ooh, sorry…kind of a tender spot for you two, huh?” Emily asked gently, cringing in sympathy.

            “You could say that,” Cas nodded, almost sadly. “He says he needs me, but then he always goes to his brother for help, and I understand that they’re family, of course, but I often find myself wishing I was his first call rather that his last resort…” Cas trailed off suddenly, and ducked his head awkwardly, realizing what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. “I apologize, I often misunderstand huma-… I often misunderstand the normal terms of sharing information with other people. I’ve been told I am lacking in social graces.”

            “Hey, no,” Emily laid a comforting hand on Cas’ arm, “it’s totally fine. But, you know, I’m not exactly a marriage counselor. I mean, the only way I even know how to get a guy to notice me is to drop my books in front of him, and I stole that move from the movies.”

            “What does dropping books in front of another person accomplish?” Cas inquired, seeming honestly interested.

            “Oh, well, you fake a trip and drop your books, and then the person you’re interested in, that is if he’s not a complete dick, will lean down and help you out, and you say how clumsy you are, and they’re like ‘no it’s fine’, and it’s a sort of way to start a conversation, maybe generate some sparks or whatever… at least, that’s how it worked in _Hairspray_.”

            Cas looked off into the distance, and Emily could almost see the gears clicking away in his mind. She watched with great interest when Cas stood as Dean approached, and reached for the newest haul of books.

            “Thanks Cas…” Dean handed off the heavy container with a sigh of relief. He’d barely turned back the other way, before an almighty clatter had him nearly jumping out of his skin.

            “What the hell-?”

            Cas stood looking down at the pile of books spilling from the box at his feet. “I am so clumsy,” he remarked flatly, glancing up hopefully at Dean.

            Emily giggled, then snorted as she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Um, so I have to get back to work….” She stepped slowly towards the stairs. “I’ll be back in a few hours!” She giggled once more before dashing away, with a not-so-subtle wink at Cas.

            “What was all that about?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised.

            “Oh, nothing…we were just talking about movies,” Cas said carefully.

            “Ok,” Dean shrugged, kneeling down to quickly shove the fallen books back into their box before stomping back off to the other side of the attic for another load, leaving Cas crouching forlornly and wondering why his scenario had not gone according to plan.

~~~~~

            Emily returned around suppertime, bearing a pan of chicken lasagna, much to Dean’s delight. After they’d stuffed themselves with the best dinner either of the men had had in recent memory, and talked for a while about the newest season of _Dr. Sexy, M.D_., (both Dean and Emily’s guilty pleasure, it turned out) Emily informed them that she had to leave for home.

            “But…with all the things you guys told me this afternoon…well, you seem pretty darn legit to me, so if you want to stay up here,” she held out the key to the attic, “that’s fine. Just make sure you lock up after you’re done.”

            “That’s awesome, Emily, thank you,” Dean took the key and leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug.

            “No problem!” She gathered her dishes and headed towards the stairs. “I don’t work until eleven tomorrow, but I’ll pop up and say hi sometime in the afternoon, okay?”

            “Okay,” Dean and Cas waved goodbye to their new friend. Dean patted his well-fed tummy as he heard the attic door creak shut below. He had just eaten very well, and wasn’t exactly in the mood to dive back into work.

            “Well, where shall we resume our search?” Cas asked Dean.

            “Um…how about we…don’t resume it just yet,” Deans suggested casually. Cas looked at him questioningly.

            “It’s getting pretty dark,” Dean gestured to the deepening shadows, “and we’ve found quite a bit of stuff,” he held up the eight or so pages they’d hunted down, “and honestly…” Dean threw his hands up in frustration as he admitted with growing irritation, “this damn attic is giving me a serious case of claustrophobia and if I don’t get the hell out of here soon I’m going to hang myself from those goddamn rafters.”

            “It is, as you say, your call,” Cas reached out to gingerly set his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “but I would be perfectly fine with taking our rest for the night, especially if it makes you more comfortable.”

            “Yeah, thanks man,” Dean clapped Cas on the back as they made their way down the vertigo-inducing staircase.

            “First thing I’m gonna do when we get upstairs, is take a hot shower,” Dean decided as he locked the door to the attic behind them. “Provided there is actual hot water, which is probably a coin toss, to be honest.”

            “But….you showered this morning. It was my understanding that one shower per day sufficed to fulfill your typical human standards of cleanliness.”

            “I’m not gonna shower to fulfill some standard, I’m gonna because it’s nice. Y’know?”

            “No, I don’t know.”

            “Okay, so you _do_ know how I was telling you about some of the being-human things that don’t suck? Well, a nice hot shower at the end of a long day is one of those things.”

            “But, _why_ , Dean?”

            “ _Because_ ,” Dean sighed as he unlocked their door.

            “Perhaps this understanding requires a demonstration,” Cas mused.

            “Uh…sure, maybe,” Dean shrugged, digging in his duffel for his towel (or rather, one of many, many towels he had stolen from cheap motels across the country.)

            “May I observe you?”

            If Dean had been drinking something, then this most certainly would have been a spit-take. “ _What_?!”

            “I just…I asked if…”

            “No you may not _observe_ me, Jeez, Cas, when’d you turn into such a skeeze?” Dean almost bellowed at his friend, now shrinking into the corner, away from the irate Winchester.

            “I apologize, I didn’t realize such a thing would be so…skeeze-y,” Cas ducked his head in embarrassment as he struggled with the unfamiliar slang.

            “Yeah, well, it _is_. It’s plain creepy. You don’t shower with your friends, you shower with people you sleep with or…whatever,” Dean huffed, his anger already abating at the stricken expression on Cas’ face.

            “Apologies,” Cas repeated in a meek whisper. Dean grabbed a change of clothes and his shower things and made to leave, but couldn’t bring himself to turn the handle. He took a deep breath and let it out, then addressed Cas without turning around.

            “I’m sorry I yelled at you, man. It’s not your fault you don’t know what’s weird and what’s not. It’s okay, okay?” Dean waited for Cas to answer. It took a minute before he responded in a voice so small, Dean could barely imagine that there was a time that it could shatter glass. 

            “Are you very angry with me?”         

            “No, Cas, I’m not.” Dean turned to lock eyes with his friend, and even managed to flash a friendly grin. “Seriously, dude, when have I _ever_ been able to stay mad at you?” And Dean swung open the door and closed it behind him, effectively ending what he would most definitely put under the category of “chick flick moments.”

            When he returned a half an hour later, Cas inquired pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, “Was your shower enjoyable?”

            “The temperature of the water was decent…the pressure of the water was sucky…I think that the four dead flies circling the drain were my personal favorite,” Dean quipped, stowing his things. As he crammed his dirty clothes back in his bag, he patted around and discovered something was missing. He looked up and found what he was looking for sitting in the center of the room.

            “Uh, I didn’t take that out…” Dean looked pointedly from his bottle of Jack, to Cas.

            “No,” Cas agreed.

            “Are you…trying to tell me something?”

            “I am trying to subtly inform you I wish to have a drink, but I don’t want to steal outright, so I must attempt to convince you to give me one.”

            “Ah…yeah, telling me outright that you’re trying to ‘subtly inform me’ of something pretty much takes any subtlety there may have been to begin with out of the picture.”

            “I see. Now may we drink?” Cas reached for the bottle, but Dean held it out of his reach.

            “Yes, but, we are classy and responsible guys, and I swear on your Dad that I’m not gonna let you become an alcoholic so…” Dean trawled through the pile of groceries and trash in the corner until he unearthed two plastic cups. “We are gonna use glasses, and we aren’t gonna get smashed, you got me?”

            “I got you,” Cas responded, hand still outreached.

            About an hour later, the bottle was quite a bit lighter, and the glasses had been used… _many_ times.

            “Hey, hey Cas, you know what's a weird word? Squeeze. Think about it. It’s got a 'Q', _and_ a 'Z'. And look at all them 'E's. Lookit 'em. Three of 'em. Squeeze. Ha.” So maybe Dean had drank a little more than he should have…well, it had been for a good cause. That cause was, that Dean had realized after refilling their glasses for a second time that he had never seen Cas properly drunk when human, and really, that was a sight he very much needed to see. Turned out drunk Cas was much like sober Cas, except for a sort of soft constant smiling that popped up about halfway through the bottle, and a growing clumsiness that was beginning to reach the newborn-deer stage.

            Cas tripped spectacularly over a bump in the carpet on his way to retrieve the remains of the morning’s package of donuts (Dean also discovered that drunk Cas got the munchies in a serious way). He struggled to right himself, and turned round to glare with such venom at the offending carpet that Dean sprawled back onto the bed, shaking with laughter.

            As Cas made his shaky way back to the safety of the lower bunk, food in tow, he asked Dean seriously, “What is it that it so funny?”

            “Y-y-you, man,” Dean threw up his hands, unable to articulate a reason, or inhibit another bout of snorting cackles, “you’re just so…I dunno but you make me laugh.” That made Cas smile widely, but, Dean realized, he still hadn’t seen the ex-angel do any actual laughing himself that evening.

            “Well, I guess you aren’t a giggly drunk,” Dean poked Cas in the side, causing him to twitch uncomfortably. Dean noticed the reaction, and in his devious and inebriated mind the perfect solution to Cas’ still fairly dour mood materialized.

            With a great “Aha!” Dean nearly leaped across the bed, and dug his hands into Cas’ sides, tickling him mercilessly. Cas gasped, choking out a flurry of unintelligible noises, before finally beginning to laugh heartily, clutching at his besieged torso, and trying in vain to smack Dean’s wiggling fingers away.

            “Stahh-stop! STOP it Dean, don’t –” The more Cas flailed, the harder Dean laughed, only redoubling his efforts, as Cas’ giggles ratcheted higher and higher, the pitch sharper than Dean had ever heard his gravelly voice go before. After another minute, Dean relented, allowing his friend to curl into the fetal position and try to catch his breath.

            “There. Now you’re laughing.” Dean smiled down proudly at his work.

            Cas glared up at him from his prostrate position, half falling off the edge of the bottom bunk, but he couldn’t keep up the pretense of anger for long, and his pouty lips turned up in a grin. His expression took on a mischievous note, and Dean braced himself to make a quick escape if it was thoughts of revenge lighting up Cas’ eyes.

            “I swear to God, Cas,” he warned, “if you tickle me, no one will ever find your body.”

            “Are you implying you’ll commit homicide if I continue on this course?” Cas pushed himself up and sat back on his haunches, eyeing Dean carefully.

            “I ain’t implying anything. I am threatening you, directly.”

            “Noted,” Cas murmured dangerously, before pouncing onto Dean and tickling him fiercely, with admittedly less skill and finesse than Dean had, but producing the same result.

            “Get off –GET OFF ah!” Dean shoved at Cas to no avail as the ex-angel, whose lithe build hid more strength than Dean had given him credit for, held him down for a good solid tickle-attack.

            The door flew open with a loud bang, as Sam rushed in, pulling his gun from the waistband of his jeans. He stared at the scene in front of him, consisting of Castiel straddling Dean, frozen in the act of pinching at his sides, and his brother wheezing for breath as he finally succeeded in escaping Cas’ devilish hands.

            “Oh, my _God_ , you guys. What are you _twelve_? I thought someone was getting _killed_ in here!” Sam shouted, slamming the door shut and holstering his weapon while pulling out his most intense bitchface, and leveling it at his two roommates.

            Cas hung his head in shame at the berating, but Dean stuck his chin out stubbornly.

            “Just because _you_ don’t know how to have any fun, Sam…” Dean pursed his lips and made to get off the bed, but tumbled at the head rush, and probably the significant amount of liquor swimming in his system. As he staggered towards his younger brother, Sam coughed at the strong whiff of alcohol on his breath.

            “Oh, jeez, are you guys… _drunk_?” Sam groaned in annoyance as he grabbed up the bottle that Cas was attempting to surreptitiously cover with the bedspread. “You were supposed to be _working_.”

            “Hey, we were working, and we found some stuff,” Dean pointed forcefully at the small stack of diary pages they’d collected, “and then…then we decided to take a break.” Dean swayed slightly in place, staring defiantly at his brother. Sam scoffed, but his expression changed to one of interest as he picked up the pages and began to peruse them.

            “Hey, these…these are great…but where’s the rest of it?’ Sam asked as he shuffled through the papers.

            “Looks like the ghost or somebody hid them throughout the attic. A little scavenger hunt left behind, like that case in Illinois,” Dean answered.

            “Ok, well, we should get on with finding the rest of these.”

            “Yeah, we should, but look,” Dean threw his arm around Sam’s broad shoulders, “we worked hard today, and I’m sure _you_ worked hard today…how about _tomorrow_ you tell us all about what you learned from that Benson guy, and we trawl that goddamn attic for the rest of this goddamn diary.”

            “Oh, c’mon Dean, you’ve never exactly been a stellar student, but you aren’t usually this lazy…” Sam cast a judgmental look down on his older brother, who pushed him away.

            “Hey! It’s not laziness, it’s just… _dude_. This isn’t the apocalypse. The world won’t end if we don’t solve this case in the next hour. The ghost will still be here in the morning.”

            “Yeah…I guess…” Sam pursed his lips, thinking about how nice yet another long night of uninterrupted sleep sounded.

            “Yeah! I knew that somewhere in that big brain of yours you knew how to relaaaax,” Dean dragged the last syllable out as he prodded his brother in the ribs with a grin. Sam jerked away, and held up a finger.

            “No, Dean” he told his brother firmly, “Cas might’ve let you get away with this, but you’re not going to ti –” Sam never got to finish his statement, because Dean was for the second time that night, tickling the living hell out of someone. Sam squealed as Dean poked his sides in just the right place, a knowledge borne from a shared childhood filled with a multitude of truly epic tickle-fights.

            “C’mon, Cas, I need backup!” Dean called out to his friend as Sam managed to escape, panting, from his onslaught, and turn the tables with a quick jab just under his older brother’s ribcage.

            Cas observed the situation for a moment, weighing the odds, before throwing his calculations to the wind as he remembered something that Dean often said before doing something that was usually spectacularly stupid. What the Hell, thought Cas, as he dived into the melee of long, flailing Winchester limbs.

            It was a good night.


	5. Chapter 5

It was not a good morning. Cas awoke with Dean’s horridly stale breath in his face, and a pounding headache behind his aching eyes. His moans of discomfort woke Dean, who also groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes to hide from the weak light filtering in from above.

            “Well, Cas, welcome to your first real hangover as a human.” Dean reached out to blindly pat at Cas’ shoulder, and missed, poking his face instead, earning Dean an elbow to his very tender ribs.

            “I hate you,” Cas grumbled as he stumbled out to the bathroom.

            “Love you too!” Dean called after him, although the noise made his head throb.

            “You should go give him a hand, he might need one. I don’t think angels probably know much about the concept of ‘puking’,” Sam called down from the top bunk.

            Dean’s stomach heaved, and he clutched a pillow to his face. “No, Sam, you go.”

            “Dean, it’s _your_ fault –”

            “You go or I swear to God _I_ will puke in _your_ bed,” Dean threatened.

            So, Sam went, with a great deal of huffing and puffing to go care for the ex-angel. Once Cas had been cleaned up, and Dean’s head had stopped spinning, Sam plopped them down in the shadow of the lower bunk and forced some water and crackers on them, which they sipped and nibbled at reluctantly.

           “So, do you want to hear about what I learned yesterday?” Sam asked, settling into the rickety wooden chair, and surveying the dampened spirits of his brother and Cas with just a note of superiority.

            “Yes, but please tell us about it _quietly_ ,” Cas whispered, closing his eyes.

            “Okay,” Sam said in a low voice, “I didn’t actually learn a _lot_ , unfortunately, I spent most of the day chasing the damn guy from appointment to appointment, pretexting as a researcher interested in writing about the history of this town. When I finally got a moment with him, he couldn’t tell me much except that a family called the Hatterslys were the MacArthurs distant cousins who ended up inheriting the place. Sounds like they were the ones who dumped most of the dead family’s personal effects up in that attic, I guess they didn’t want to deal with any of it, since they put the house up on the market practically before the bloodstains were scrubbed out of the floorboards. Then a guy named Gerold Raymond bought it, we found some of his things up in the attic the other day, and he owned the house for a couple of decades. Sounds like it was just a summer place for him, and he spent most of his time down South. Eventually, he moved down there permanently, and that’s when Mr. Benson’s family bought the place out and reopened it as a hostel. I tried to ask him if he remembered anything about the murders that had happened there over the years, or if he’d noticed anything strange when he was there, but he just waved me off saying that he’s only been there a few times, and just took care of the business aspect of things, and so unless I wanted to know about taxes or the like, he couldn’t help me.” Sam sighed, and stretched as he finished his recap of events.

            “So…basically, it was a complete waste of time…I guess in a way I won the coin toss after all,” Dean lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk.

            “Well actually, I _did_ learn one thing that is very interesting. I wasn’t the first person to track Mr. Benson down and ask him weird questions, like about cold spots and flickering lights and weird skittering in the walls.” Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly at his brother.

          Dean lurched forward, his curiosity drawing him out of the safe darkness under the bunk. “But that means…”

            “Yeah, another hunter must have caught wind of the case.”

            “But who is he? Or she? Why haven’t we seen them poking around here?”

            “Well, they could be keeping to themselves, which wouldn’t be unusual, especially if they were the ones who almost got caught desecrating graves.”

            “Right…I mean they might’ve even blown town at this point, just to steer clear of the cops.”

            “Maybe. But we should be on the lookout, just in case. Some hunters don’t like it when strangers show up and start digging around in their case.”

            “But wouldn’t other hunters realize the benefits of having more people hunting the same creature?” Cas asked, piping up for the first time. “It is very simply more statistically likely that the case will be solved with greater speed, the larger the number of people working together.”

            “Yeah, but not all hunters are as cuddly as me ‘n Sam. They can get downright nasty if you don’t leave them be. Probably has to do with the trauma and the trust issues that kinda go with the territory of becoming a hunter in the first place.”

            Cas nodded his understanding, and then froze, clutching his stomach as the movement set off a wave of nausea. Dean winced sympathetically, remembering the truly wretched times of his first brutal hangover. By this point, hangovers were just par for the course of his life, and even though he didn’t exactly feel like a million bucks, he was at least still functional.

            “Okay. So, today, how about you two…or maybe, just you Dean,” Sam glanced at Cas’ miserable hunched form, “should go back up to the attic and see if you can find the rest of this diary. I’ll go hit up the local historical society, and start digging through the newspapers from the time, see if I can find anything useful.”

            “Hey, Mr. Big Boss on Campus, since when do _you_ make the plans? And why do you get to go out while we’re cooped up in the attic again?” Dean whined.

            “Since you got our friend so hungover he’s barely holding onto consciousness, you get to take care of him, which means you stay here. And anyway, do you really want to go and spend the day squinting at microfilm?” Sam stood and began to collect his things. “I know you, and you can’t sit still for more than a minute, at least up in the attic you get to move.”

            “Ugh, fine,” Dean agreed reluctantly, pouting like a petulant teenager.

            “See ya…and just…” Sam looked pityingly at the stricken fallen angel. “Make sure Cas is still breathing when I get back.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Dean promised sarcastically, as Sam closed the door gently, mindful of Cas’ tender condition, even if he had no sympathy for his asshole brother’s.

~~~~~

            The day passed unbearably slowly for Dean, his time split between searching the attic and trekking back up to the room to check on Cas, whom Dean had declared bedridden, since throwing up or fainting on evidence just really wasn’t all that helpful. Emily helped in the search when she could, but even with her assistance, Dean had only found two more pages of the diary by the time Sam called that afternoon.

            “So get this,” Sam said by way of greeting, “I just found this little announcement back in the local paper from 1897, that’s just a year before Jim supposedly went psycho and killed Violet and her rich husband-to-be Richard, announcing the happy news of Violet Jackson and Jim Harrison’s engagement.”

            “Wait, _what_?”

            “Yeah, I know!” Sam enthused. “Turns out, Violet was _engaged_ to her eventual killer… he wasn’t just a jilted ex, he was almost her husband…”

            “That’d certainly explain why he went after her and her fiancé, and it also clears up a lot of what Violet is saying in these journals about ‘having to avoid Jim’…now we know why.”

            “Yeah, it sounds like she broke the guy’s heart. But, since he did eventually become an axe-murderer I’m pretty sure she probably made the right decision ending that relationship.”

            “True. And, as fascinating as this all is, does it actually bring us even a little bit closer to finding the damn ghost? Seems to me that we’re just stacking up evidence that Jim’s the one ganking these people.”

            “Yeah, it does look that way. But that’s why we need to keep researching. We have to figure out what it is that’s tying Jim to our world, since his corpse was already torched way back when. And it seems to me that finding out as much as we can about him and his life is the best way to do that,” Sam explained patiently.

            “Fine,” Dean agreed grumpily, still a bit too hungover to muster the energy for an argument.

            “The Historical Society closes at eight, so I’ll be back then, alright?”

            “Yeah, alright,” Dean hung up and heaved a sigh, looking around at the massive piles of stuff that still needed to be sorted through. He could’ve sworn it was growing by the day, and that things once put into one pile somehow made their way into others. Of course, inanimate objects couldn’t move themselves… Dean slammed his palm into his forehead. Dammit! The _ghost_ could easily be moving things around to confuse them. And if the ghost was about, messing with them, and listening to them, it could know _way_ more than it should…which spelled serious trouble for all of them. But why was the ghost just hanging around? Dean wondered, looking cautiously around the attic. Why hadn’t it come out and had a go at us? Quiet and cautious was hardly the style of an axe murderer. Something doesn’t add up here, he mused as he left the attic to go and check in on Cas.

            When Sam returned that evening, he found Cas feeling quite a bit better, and helping Dean out in the attic.           

            “How’s it goin’ guys?” Sam asked, “Find any more pages?”

            “Oh, yeah. We found five whole more pages of….hmmm, let’s see. ‘Richard took me to the fair today it was lovely. I got a whole new book of puzzles and it’s the most wonderful thing. The roses are lovely although I can’t see them well from the second story…’s She just keeps bitching about not being able to see the damn roses, she _really_ likes the goddamn roses, and at no point does she say ‘and if Jim ever murders me, dies, and becomes a ghost, this is how to get rid of him’.” Dean finished his rant by shoving the loose pages into Sam’s chest with a loud thwack. Sam rolled his eyes, fairly used to Dean’s bouts of childish bad-temper.

            “Hey guys! How’re you doing?” Emily popped her head up from the stairs with a perky grin.

            “Ah…well, to be honest we haven’t found much,” Sam admitted.

            “But we did find out that there’s probably at least one other person looking into this case,” Dean added. “Which is why I’ve been meaning to ask you: has anyone else come around asking questions?”

            “All we really know is that it’s a guy, probably about 5’ 10” and slim, if it is the guy who was messing around in the town graveyard.”

            “Well, actually, that sounds a lot like that guy Nick.”

            “Nick?” Dean and Sam said in unison, leaning forward.

            “Yeah, Nick, you know the PI who’s been staying here? He said he was looking into the death of that last guy who died here. Oh my gosh! I’m stupid for not telling you guys about him sooner! He was just kind of a jerk, and I didn’t put two and two together…”

            “Hey, hey Emily, it’s no big deal. You’ve been a huge help, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” Sam patted her shoulder comfortingly.

            “And anyway, we actually have met Nick…Cas and I talked to him our first night here,” Dean explained. “He told us he was investigating, but then we didn’t see him around, and I guess I just…forgot.” Dean shrugged.

            “Really Dean? You just _forgot_ about some guy who spins out a story exactly like the pretext that we and every other hunter in the world rattles off all the time? And you’d still forgotten him when I told you we were on the lookout for another hunter? You’re getting old, dude,” Sam accused.

            “Hey, so I messed up, it’s not a big deal, and this morning I was hungover so it doesn’t count!”

            “Oh, really, you shouldn’t have been hungover in the first pl –”

            “Would you two please stop with your ridiculous and incessant bickering,” Cas interrupted, coolly reprimanding the brothers. “It is getting us nowhere, and besides, we are not alone. You are embarrassing us in front of Emily.” Sam and Dean turned with identical shocked looks to Cas, and then to Emily.

            “Sorry, Emily,” they apologized.

            “It’s fine,” she assured them in a small voice.

            “Emily, would you happen to know which room Nick has?” Cas inquired.

            “Um, no, but if you come with me I can go check,” Emily stood and took a step towards the stairs. Cas followed, and so did the brothers, exchanging silent glances with each other. Cas has got some nerve, who knew?

            They trudged downstairs, and Emily scooted behind the desk to look Nick up in the Guest Register.

            “Hey, Maris,” She greeted the plump middle-aged woman currently reading the newspaper behind the desk. “How’s it going?”

            “Good,” Maris answered, disinterestedly.

            “Uh, quick question, have you seen that Nick guy today? You know, the PI?” Emily asked, trying for a casual tone.

            “The sleazy hat guy? Yeah, he just came back in, went up to his room in a bit of a hurry carrying a sorta funny smelling bag of who knows what. Drugs, I’m sure,” Maris declared, still not tearing her eyes from the comic section.

            “Probably,” Emily agreed nervously, flipping through the pages of the register. “Here, 102, ground floor” she tapped the page, and looked up to find the trio already at the door to the rest of the hostel.

            “Hey, guys?” she called after them. They turned back as one. “Just…be careful.” She smiled shakily.

            “We will be,” Cas promised earnestly, as the three men bounded off.

            They arrived in front of 102, and Dean knocked roughly on the door. There was no response. He knocked again, even harder, shaking dust loose from the frame.

            “Nick! Open up!” Dean called. Still, no response. Then, he heard something, quiet words, almost chanting from beyond the door. He leaned in close and listened hard.

            “Latin,” he whispered as he recognized the sound. He took a step back, and looked to Sam for approval. He nodded. Dean took a deep breath, and then raised his foot and kicked in the door. Dean, Sam, and Cas all piled into the room to find Nick kneeling on the ground in front of a copper pot, surrounded by  a mess of strange odds and ends, and holding a lit match between his left thumb and forefinger. He looked up with mild interest at their sudden and violent arrival, before dropping the match into the pot, which exploded in a plume of lavender smoke.

            “What the hell was that?” Dean shouted, pulling his gun and stuffing it in Nick’s face.

            “Merely what I was sent here to do,” Nick responded calmly.

            “When you say ‘sent here’…”

            “I mean, that the kids of that poor guy that was torn apart here were pretty desperate for answers…and they were downright agreeable to my price after I told them that I could get ‘em justice on the thing that did in their precious ol’ pop.”

            “So, you got the skills and the know-how to fight the thirty-two flavors of nasty that run around at night, and you use that to rip off the families of the victims? Oh, that’s _real_ classy.” Dean glowered at Nick, who was still kneeling next to the copper pot, his smug smirk still in place. “Told ya Sammy,” Dean laughed harshly, tucking his weapon back in his waistband, “I told ya he was a douche.”

            “Oh, please,” Nick scoffed, standing up and adjusting his hat. “As if I’m so different from you. I’m a hunter…for hire. That’s all.”

            “You’re no hunter. You’re…you’re…a dick,” Dean finished lamely. “And you clearly don’t know how to deal with what you’re messing with! What are you going to do, _season_ the damn thing?” He gestured to the haphazard mess of herbs and other ingredients for spellwork, and kicked over a few jars to illustrate his irritation.

            The side of Nick’s mouth turned up in a cruel half-smile, “What, the spirit haunting this place? Don’t you worry, if there’s a ghost around, this spell will rile ‘em up good.”

            “ _What_?” Dean shouted grabbing Nick’s collar in his fists. “What, exactly do you plan on _doing_ with a pissed off ghost? You’ll get someone ki–” Dean’s unfortunately prophetic statement was drowned out by a strangled cry, ending with a choking gargle and a thunk that reverberated through the bones of the old house. The four men dashed instantly for the staircase, trying to follow the sound of the scream to its source before it was cut off. They scrambled haphazardly through the labyrinthine hallways and the winding staircase, making for the second floor where it seemed the horrendous noise had come from. They bounded onto the landing and tripped around the corner, Dean and Sam in the lead, Nick tight on their heels, and Cas bringing up the rear. Nick brandished an iron poker, previously hidden inside his jacket, but there was nothing to attack. Only Darren, the young newlywed Dean and Cas had met their first night at the hostel, on the floor, in pieces.

            It was as if he’d swallowed a grenade. Ichor dripped thickly down the walls, gory bits of flesh were wedged into the ceiling tiles, and chunks of bone littered the carpet. Sam covered his mouth and nose, the smell of blood filling in the air and turning his stomach. Cas looked on, his face the stolid mask of a soldier who has seen too many battles, and too many dead. Dean closed his eyes, as if the horrible sight would disappear when he re-opened them. Nick was the only one who stepped forward, apparently unfazed by the incredible violence that his actions had wrought. He swept along the hall, poking open doors gingerly, and scowling when he found the floor to be empty.            

            “Dammit!” Nick viciously kicked a bit of the unfortunate victim’s remains aside, and slammed his open palm into a nearby door frame in frustration. “I could’ve had this case solved if you three hadn’t shown up and gotten in my way!” Sam, Dean, and Cas stared at the man in shock, none of them really able to believe their ears.

Dean was the first to find his voice. “ _Really_? You’re blaming us? A man is _dead_ because of _you_ , and your dumb-ass scheme!”

            “My ‘scheme’ would’ve worked out just fine! Cast the spell, catch a glimpse of the ghost to ID it, then salt and burn the bones, quick and easy!”

            “Yeah, and seriously tick the damn thing off in the process!” Sam stepped forward, his tone almost as angry as his brother’s. Finding an innocent young man brutally murdered will do that to a person. “Did you stop to think that someone might get hurt while you were doing things the quick and easy way?” Sam asked, crossing his arms and adopting his most imposing posture.

            “Yeah, and I decided it was an acceptable risk,” Nick scoffed, his anger morphing quickly into stubbornness. “And I don’t wanna hang around these backwoods any longer than I have to. The sooner I gank the son of a bitch, the sooner I get paid. It’s simple.”

            “An acceptable risk? _Simple_?” Dean snarled, outraged. “Another human being is dead because you’re a goddamn greedy _bastard_!” Sam and Cas just caught his shoulders in time to stop him from launching himself at the hunter-for-hire.

           “This is not my fault,” Nick spat, stepping cautiously away from the furious man. “And anyway,” he smirked, his face utterly remorseless, “saving people isn’t my job. I just wanna find the bastard that done killed ’em.” He skipped back down the stairs, and Dean tried his damnedest to follow, but Sam gripped his arm tightly and reprimanded him in a harsh whisper, “Yeah, he’s a smarmy mook, and yeah he screwed up big time. But going after him isn’t going to help anyone. Or bring Darren back.” Dean shook off the two men’s hold on him with a growl and a stomp. Sam’s words might not have stopped him from following Nick into a dark corner and breaking his nose, but when Cas stepped lightly forward and placed a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder and murmured “Dean…” in the soft, low tone he seemed to reserve just for him, Dean stopped and took a breath. He continued taking deep lungfuls of air through his nose until the red dissipated from his vision.

            “Sam, you should go find Daisy,” Dean suggested as calmly as he could. “Make sure she doesn’t see this. And call the police. Cas and I will sweep the rooms, though I doubt we’ll find anything.” Dean stepped over the remains of the young man with a grimace, and Cas followed. Sam headed towards the stairs with a heavy heart. There was absolutely no good or easy way to break the news he was about to give.

            Dean and Cas began to halfheartedly search the nearby rooms. Most of them were locked, and no one answered, presumably out for the evening, and not torn to shreds. The ghost had only gone after men staying in the hostel with their significant others, and since there weren’t any other couples staying at the hostel (Emily had checked for them), no one else fit the profile, and so no one else should be in immediate danger, not if the ghost stuck to his habits. And if there was one thing ghosts could be counted on, Dean thought bitterly, it was their consistency.

            “Dean…” Cas said quietly, not so much as the introduction to further speech, but to remind Dean that he wasn’t alone.

            “Cas, I can’t believe…” Dean pressed his fist to his mouth to keep from screaming or crying, he didn’t know what. “I should have known,” he said finally, “I should have figured out the ghost would come for them, and gotten them out of here. I shouldn’t have been messing around, and complaining, I should have been _doing_ something –”

            Cas considered for a moment, listening to his Dean berate himself for things that were not his fault, then leaned forward and wrapped him up in a tight hug. Dean stiffened for a moment, fully prepared to step away with a gruff, manly pat on the back, but instead, he melted into it and held his friend tightly. He felt the guilt squeezing at his heart loosen, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

            “This was not your fault. You did, and have always done, more than would be expected of any other. You are good.”

            Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he was torn between letting the tears that burned behind his eyes every time he was confronted with a tragedy like this fall, and pushing Cas away like he should have to begin with. Sam’s loud, clomping footsteps on the stairs made the decision for him.

            “Uh, yeah, sure, thanks,” Dean took a wide step away from his friend. “Jeez, Cas,” Dean covered the shakiness in his voice with added bravado, “When did you become such a girl?”

            “My gender remains steadfastly male, as you know, since I’m quite sure if the change had been made you would have noticed,” Cas snapped back, Dean’s casual rejection of his kindness stinging deep. Cas felt anger rise like bile in the back of his throat, a human sensation he would have sooner lived without. Cas moved pointedly away from Dean, as Sam’s mop of hair appeared at the stairs.

            “Um…” Sam stepped forward slowly, vaguely aware that he was interrupting a moment.

            “What?” The pair asked simultaneously.

            “Daisy was just on the floor below, she heard the screams, but some of the other guests stopped her from going up, and called the police. She’s…well, obviously she’s not good, but these two elderly sisters down there are taking care of her, and she didn’t seem too keen on me so…” Sam’s hands flopped resignedly at his sides. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

            “Well, there is one thing you can do.” Dean’s face was set with a cold fury, as he looked once more at the gory remains of what had once been a good young man. “You can make sure that Nick doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

            “Dean…I don’t think…” Sam began delicately.

            “No, Sam, I don’t mean kill him, that’s why _you_ should do it. If I went, I’d probably end up plugging the guy in the face no matter what. And he would deserve it, but…”

            “But there’s already been enough bloodshed tonight,” Cas finished for him.

            “Alright, but then…what do you have in mind?” Sam asked, hands on hips.

            “Get him arrested. You did it once to Gordon, shouldn’t be too hard.”

            “Yeah, Dean, do you actually _remember_ what happened with Gordon, after we got him sent to prison?”

            “Yeah, so he busted out bent on assassinating you, got turned into a vampire and killed some people… but you got him in the end, and let’s be honest, the whole thing was worth it just for the utter awesomeness of you cutting his head off with razor wire, am I right?” Dean plastered on his patented snarky grin. Sam replied with his usual raised eyebrows of disapproval.

            “Fine,” Sam relented, “I’ll go find him and… I dunno, stuff him in the trunk and then dump him in the middle of a crime scene somewhere? Seriously, this is not an actual plan.”

            “Well, you could just shoot him and dump the body out back. Your choice.”

            “Alright, alright! But no promises about the longevity of this solution.”

            “That’s cool, since I don’t even know what that word means.”

            Sam huffed, rolled his eyes, and trotted back down the stairs to attempt to instigate their fairly ridiculous plot.

            “Okay, Cas, let’s go back up to the attic, and no complaining this time,” Dean tried to joke, but backed off at Cas’ cool glare. “I mean….no complaining from _me_ , you’ve been a real champ.” Dean slapped his friend’s back with a smile, hoping Cas understood that this was his own special, emotionally-stunted way of apologizing for being a jerk.

            “Thank you,” Cas nodded graciously and, Dean suspected, forgave him, since he moved back into his usual blatant invasion of Dean’s space.

            “Okay,” Dean clapped his hands together in a show of mock cheer, “Let’s go hunt down this undead son of a bitch!” 

~~~~~

            A couple of hours later, Dean’s resolve was wavering as he sneezed for the thousandth time on the layer of dust coating literally every last thing in the entire godforsaken attic. It was past eleven o’clock, and Dean was now cursing internally at allowing himself to become so spoiled by a few nights good sleep. Even Emily, who’d heard the ruckus, been thoroughly freaked out, and was now insisting she stay and help, couldn’t keep up her usually relentless positivity. Cas had gone to retrieve some of the cheap, stale coffee from the dining room, and he now returned with three cups, which he handed out wordlessly, eyeing Dean’s stormy expression.

            “Dean, you must stop dwelling on Darren’s passing, and especially stop thinking about Nick,” Cas admonished in a low, gentle tone.

            “How do you know I’m dwelling on anything,” Dean responded with artificial calm.

            “Well, _are_ you dwelling?” Cas prompted. Dean’s silence answered his question well enough.

            “So, you are, and you really must stop. It’s doing you no good.”

            “Yeah, well, Nick is a dick,” Dean grumbled around his coffee.

            “That rhymes,” Cas noted stoically, in the same serious manner with which he announced the coming of the apocalypse. Dean huffed a laugh, small but genuine, at that. Cas’ lips turned up in a slight smile, pleased at making his friend laugh, even if he didn’t actually understand why. Dean’s slight smile slipped away quickly, though, as something occurred to him.

            “As much as I hate to admit it, Nick might’a been on the right path, summoning the spirit. Obviously, he went about it the wrong way but…he still got further in a few minutes than we have in days of searching through this old crap.”

            “Yes, but such drastic action, although perhaps quicker than our methods, was clearly more dangerous. And efficiency is not more valuable than human life,” Cas reminded him.

            “Of course, but sometimes efficiency saves human lives! That’s the problem. While we’ve been screwing around up here, someone died!” Dean slammed the box he was looking through down with a great deal more force than was necessary. Cas considered, and then asked Emily, “Are there any couples staying here, other than Daisy and her late husband?”

            “Uh…no, there’s hardly anyone here actually. The weekend rush is over, so we’re pretty empty. So, no couples…other than you two of course,” she smiled sweetly at them.

            “So, there are very few other patrons here, and no couples…at least, anymore, so the danger should not be immediate. Thus, we are not in a hurry.” Cas pressed his hand gently against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

            “Yeah…but I am in a pretty big hurry to get this damn case over with. It sucks.” Dean heaved a deep breath, and hung his head. Emily made a distressed little noise at his evident unhappiness.

            “I’m so sorry that this sucks,” she apologized in a squeaky voice. Dean looked up, and saw the first signs of tears gathering in her eyes, and immediately stood, and stepped towards her, doing his best to muster up a genuine smile.

            “Hey, not _everything_ sucks…” he assured her, “You’ve been awesome.” He held out his arms for a hug, which she gladly accepted, throwing herself into his embrace cooing “aww, you!” He patted her back, feeling almost ridiculously better. She was a good kid. She was the reason he did the crappy job he did. Sure, there were a lot of Nicks in the world, but there were bunch of Emilys too, and that made it worth it. His smiled deepened, as he hugged his new friend tightly, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen as his convictions were renewed.

            Cas smiled at the two, almost able to see some of the weight lift off of Dean’s shoulders. Dean and Emily moved apart, and the trio began to rifle through the chaotic contents of the attic with renewed gusto.


	6. Chapter 6

“Where is Waldo?” Cas mused, perusing a faded poster a half an hour later, “And why does he feel this compulsion to hide?” He leaned down to dig further into the decaying crate, wondering if the answer to the missing man lay inside it.

            “Wow,” Emily whistled low, “nice view there,” she flicked her eyes to the left and then back at Dean with a wink. “I can see why you put a ring on it,” she added with a giggle. It took Dean a moment to realize that she was remarking on their view of Cas bent over a box to examine its contents, and unwittingly creating a rather alluring view of his very nice ass. _Wait_ , he realized with a jolt, the gears in his brain grinding to a halt. _What was that thought you just had there_?

            So what if Dean thought Cas had a nice ass? He tried in vain to rationalize to himself. It was just a normal, objective assessment of another human body. Oh man, bemoaned the part of his brain that remembered the plots of the many bad romcoms he’d watched late at night in cheap motels, you are in it _so_ deep.

            _Tits_! He thought frantically, in an attempt to re-secure his previously close-held heterosexuality. Curves….and…and ass – no, no not that one. And lips…and…his mind wandered of its own accord back to the other day when he’d watched, in what he’d convinced himself was a distinctly non-pervy way, as Cas’ tongue flicked out to grab the last morsel of pie from his bottom lip. The thought ‘get the man some Chapstick’ had risen unbidden to Dean’s mind. _Damn, but this situation was getting out of control._

            “Is this something you want, Dean?” Cas stood up straight, holding out a piece of paper he’d unearthed.

            “Yeah,” he answered, a bit shakily. Yes, Dean realized with a jolt as his heart leapt in an unfamiliar way, I think it might actually be. _Holy shit_ , he thought in complete astonishment, I guess that midnight in a shitty attic in Nowhere Central, Minnesota is the place to have life-altering revelations.

            Cas came closer, inspecting whatever he’d found in that box, oblivious to Dean’s current internal identity crisis.

            “Dean, look at this!” Cas shoved the paper under Dean’s nose in a sudden fervor.

            “What, what?” Dean waved it out of his face, while mentally clamping down on thoughts like “Seriously, _Cas_? Really? That’s who you fucking choose?”, “Does this mean I’m gay now? What the fuck.” and “There will be no fucking rainbows or glitter, goddammit.”

            “Look!” Cas insisted. Dean grabbed the paper, and saw it was not a diary  page, as he’d expected, but a scrap of plain writing paper, yellowed with age, emblazoned with thick black lettering proclaiming, “Stay away from him, or you will regret it.”

            “Whoa…” Dean looked more closely at the threatening note. In the upper right hand corner it was dated 1898, but the left hand corner had been torn off.

            “Do you think that Jim wrote this?” Dean looked at Cas, who tilted his head in thought. “You know, he was into Violet, but she went off to marry the rich dude, and he threatened her with this?”

            “I’m not sure…” Cas furrowed his brow. “Why is that corner missing? What was written there?”

            “I dunno, man, it could’ve been eaten by rats, or torn off by accident…”

            “Or maybe the ghost removed it in order to confuse us,” Cas countered.

            “I guess…that seems a little weird though. If the ghost really didn’t want us to find this, why didn’t he just destroy it?”

            Cas deflated slightly. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling. And a hunch…” he suddenly brightened again. “Dean, do you have any of those pages from Violet’s diary?”

            “What? No, they’re up in the room, in a ghost-proofed curse box, just in case. Hey, where’re you going?” Dean called after Cas, who had just taken off in great excitement for the stairs.

            “The pages, Dean!” was all he said. Dean made to follow, pausing to take Emily’s arm and lead her towards the stairs too.

            “You’re going home,” he ordered gently. “You’ve been a great help, but you look friggin’ exhausted.” She nodded in sleepy agreement, and went down the stairs with no argument. After seeing Emily safely off, Dean bounded up the stairs to their room.

            “Cas, what the hell’s got your panties in a twist?” he demanded to know when he swung the door open, finding Cas poring over diary pages, and holding the new note about an inch from his nose.

            “Dean!” Cas looked up, his eyes wide. He leaped forwards, holding up the note and a page side by side. “Look at the y!”

            “Huh?” Dean shook his head, nonplussed.

            “Look at the y, on the note, and on this page!” Cas pointed first to one, and then the other. Dean stared at Cas’ proffered documents for a minute, before the tumblers finally clicked in his brain.

            “Oh my god! This is the same handwriting!” he exclaimed, grabbing the papers and scrutinizing them more closely. The distinctive twist of the y’s tail in Violet’s diary and in the note were clearly the same, which meant it wasn’t Jim who’d written that threatening note…

            “Yes!” Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulders. “Maybe we’ve been thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe it isn’t the killer who’s haunting this place, maybe it’s his victim!”

            “That…that would make sense. That would make a lot of sense. That’s why it’s Violet’s diary that was hidden, that’s why the name was torn off of this note! And we know where Violet’s buried, sure we have to get past the police but at least we’d know for sure who we’re dealing with and…oh my _god_ , Cas, man, I could _kiss_ you!”

            “Please do.”

            “Don’t worry, I won—wait. What?” Dean froze and stared straight ahead at the blank wall as his brain replayed over and over those two dangerous little words that Cas had just said.

            “You said you could kiss me, and I asked you to. I saw no other recourse, after having attempted more subtle attempts at winning your favor, than to state my feelings in a more obvious manner.”

            “You-your _feelings_?” Dean managed to stutter, his eyes flicking over Cas’ face.

            “I feel that I care about you, deeply. At first, I thought it was merely a bond of friendship wrought from our many adventures together, but after my, uh, _experience_ with April…”

            “You mean that reaper you banged?”

            “Yes, and that you then stabbed, we’ve gone over this before, please keep up when I am trying to initiate what you so disapprovingly call a ‘heart-to-heart’.”

            “Uh, right, sorry. Continue,” Dean coughed. “D’you…want to sit down?” He gestured awkwardly to the bed, and then winced. Man, what he would give for a nice, simple, non-suggestive couch right now.

            “Yes, thank you,” Cas nodded, and sat primly down on the mattress. Dean followed, lowering himself gingerly onto the edge of the bed, trying to give his poor beleaguered mind some time to adjust his worldview to the things his best friend was telling him.

            “After April, I began to realize that…what I feel for Sam fits nicely under the boundary of friendship, but when I look at you…I feel…I feel more like I did with April.” Cas’ lips pinched together in a thin line as he struggled to articulate himself, a feeling that Dean could absolutely sympathize. His brain struggled to digest what he was hearing and feeling, much like an engine that just sits there and sputters without actually turning over.

            “Are you…are you trying to say you got the hots for me?” Dean blinked in a combination of shock, confusion and…a mysterious third emotion he couldn’t quite place.

            “No, well, yes, but that’s not quite the entirety of what I’m trying to convey…I just…Dean. I have chosen you again and again, over my brothers, over Heaven, over my Father’s entire plan for creation…Did you truly not know how I felt about you?” Cas scooted forward slowly, invading Dean’s personal space like he had a hundred times before, but Dean knew that this time it was different. Or maybe, it had always been like this, and he’d just been too dumb and blind to see it.

            “Uh…no…honestly, no. Guess I’m kind of a complete idiot, huh?”

            “Maybe. But you’re _my_ idiot.” And Castiel closed the distance between their lips.

            Dean’s eyes closed of their own accord, before his heart leapt into a panicked beat, and he jerked away, almost falling off the edge of the bed.

            “Whoa!” he said out of surprise more than anything.

            “I…I’m sorry Dean,” Cas’ eyes were wide and held panic of their own. “I didn’t mean to…”

            “It’s okay…”

            “No, if you would prefer our relationship to remain unsullied by wanton desire, I understand completely.”

            “No…wait.” Dean took a deep, steadying breath as he considered his words, before deciding that maybe thinking too deeply about his feelings and not actually _feeling_ them was what had turned him into the backwards, repressed asshole he’d become.

            “No, no, please do…sully away,” Dean looked Cas steadily in the eye, trying to force his heartbeat to return to a more regular rate, a task that proved hopeless. Cas scrutinized Dean for nearly a minute, eyebrow raised, as if questioning the truthfulness of his words. Then, without any further warning, he dived forward, grabbing two fistfuls of Dean’s shirt and crashing their mouths together. Cas spread his palms against Dean’s chest, then let them slide around to wrap around his back. Then, to Dean’s mild surprise and complete delight, one of Cas’ hands slid a bit further down.

            Dean probably should have been more concerned with how they went from a chaste first kiss to rampant ass-grabbing in the span of a minute, but somehow, with one of Cas’ hands diving past his belt, and one tangled in his hair he really can’t bring himself to care.

            “The ghost,” he began weakly, at the prickling of his conscience.  

            “That ghost has been dead for more than a century, it can wait to be destroyed until tomorrow,” Cas declared firmly, locking eyes with Dean to ensure his agreement, before ducking back down to suck at Dean’s throat, and dragging his favorite hunter more properly under the sheets.

~~~~~

            Quite a while later, Dean’s phone buzzed from the back pocket of his jeans, which had been thrown to the floor a long time ago. He reluctantly disentangled himself from Cas and tumbled out of the bottom bunk to retrieve it.

            “Come back to bed, Dean,” Cas reached out a hand from under the covers.

            “Aw, go to Hell, Cas,” Dean answered grumpily after he stubbed his toe in the dark, searching blindly for his still-buzzing phone. “What are you, my wife?”

            “I’ve already been to perdition, as you know, and have no wish to return. And as we’ve quite well established, I am not of the gender typical to that role.”

            Dean couldn’t help but laugh, and he didn’t even need Cas’ further whining that he was getting cold alone to crawl back into bed with his angel. He settled comfortably back under the comforter, wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulders as he checked the series of texts Sam had just sent him.

            nick taken care of

            for a while at least

            ill be back in a couple hours

            “A couple hours,” Cas commented, peeking interestedly at Dean’s phone.

            “Yeah…you got something in mind?” Dean grinned suggestively.

            “Hmm,” was all Cas said before leaning in and pressing his lips gently to Dean’s cheek, once, then twice, then more.

            “Hey,” Dean had to bite his lip to keep giggles from escaping. “That tickles, dude, what are you doing?”

            “I’m marking each of your freckles with a kiss,” Cas responded nonchalantly.

             “Oh for God’s sake…” Dean rolled his eyes, not allowing himself to enjoy the sentiment. “Stop it, Cas, that’s dumb and girl- hmm,” Dean cut himself off, feeling the reprimand even before Cas could vocalize it.

            “Are you saying ‘stop it’ because of your misguided ideals of masculinity, or because you truly wish me to desist in my cataloguing?”

            Silence fell, as Cas waited patiently for Dean’s response, which the hunter withheld peevishly for as long as he could, before relenting.

            “Probably…the first one.” He pursed his lips in somewhat aggravated defeat. Cas nodded, victory achieved, and leaned down to continue his work. He paused again, briefly, to ask, “Actually, perhaps you were correct earlier. Shouldn’t we be paying a visit to the cemetery, to burn Violet’s bones?”

            “Nah…with the extra police around, we’d need a real plan, and we’d definitely need Sam, so…”

            “So…”

            “So, we really have no choice but to stay here.”

            “Here. In bed.”

            “Yup, exactly.”

                                                                         ~~~~~

            Sam walked into the room a bit after 4:30 in the morning, fighting back a yawn when he stumbled over some discarded article of clothing. He was about to flick on the lights, when he spotted two lumps on the bottom bunk just barely illuminated by the faint moonlight. Damn lazy bastards already went to bed, Sam thought dismissively, rolling his eyes hugely since no one was awake to be offended. Sam kicked through more clothes, because apparently they just couldn’t be bothered to clean up after themselves a bit, fighting his way through jeans and T-shirts to climb the ladder to his bunk.

            God, they were so rude.


	7. Chapter 7

When Dean woke up with his arms wrapped tight around Castiel, he had a momentary flash of panic. He realized that neither of them was wearing any clothes, and the panic intensified. The entirety of last night’s events finally flooded back to him, and the panic abated, replaced by happiness, and some smug satisfaction. _Ha, mine_ , Dean thought sleepily, pulling Cas’ back tighter to his chest. Although Dean was pretty sure spooning was dumb on principle, he quickly rationalized that since he was the BIG spoon, his masculinity remained intact.

            Then he heard a slight rustle in the blankets above and a familiar sleepy snuffle, and the panic came back full-force. Dammit. When had Sam come back? Had he seen anything? Dean quickly calmed himself, addressing his fears logically. Sam most likely hadn’t seen anything, because even though he was generally more open-minded than Dean about pretty much everything, if he’d seen his ultra-macho-straight brother and their mutual best friend in bed together and actually seen anything that gave him an impression of, erm, _impropriety_ , he probably would have freaked out. A lot.

            So, now all that remained was to get him and Cas dressed and out of bed before Sam awoke and their rather damning nudity was revealed. Because, Dean realized, he just wasn’t ready for Sam to know…any of this. Any part of it. Not because he felt guilty about last night…well, actually, yeah, because he felt guilty about last night. Dammit, Dean groaned mentally, burying his face in Cas’ warm neck. Now he was feeling guilty about _feeling guilty_ about last night.

            Cas wiggled slightly, and rolled over in Dean’s arms sleepily, his eyes drifting open. He smiled softly and murmured, “Good morning, Dean.”

            “Mornin’, Cas,” Dean whispered back, his stomach doing a stupid little flip-flop of happiness. He glanced pointedly upwards at the lump in the mattress above them. Cas followed his gaze, and then nodded his understanding.

            “Could we...uh…talk? In private?” Dean asked in hushed tones.

            “Of course.”

            Dean slid out of bed as quietly as he could, and quickly fumbled his clothes back on. Cas trailed after him, tripping ungainly as he struggled to locate his own things. Dean watched in affectionate amusement as Cas forgot for the hundredth time the proper order in which to put on clothing, and eventually gave in and helped Cas out, definitely not using the opportunity to cop a feel, because he was classier than that. Not that Cas minded it.

            Dean gestured for them to go outside, and they tiptoed carefully out the door, Dean wincing at the sharp click when it closed. They wandered down the hall, into a quiet corner next to the row of moderately horrifying bathroom stalls. Not exactly a romantic spot, but sufficiently secluded.

            “Hey, Cas….so, I just wanted to say something to ya before Sam woke up…” Dean trailed off, already feeling like a tool before the words had even left his mouth.

            “Yes. What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” Cas lifted his hand and took Dean’s, squeezing it kindly. Dean’s self-hatred increased exponentially.

            “Okay, it’s just, about last night…can we… _not_ …tell Sam?” Dean shrunk into the wall, knowing this was stupid, and that lying to Sam _never_ worked out, and that Cas couldn’t lie worth shit anyway, and oh God this was just all gonna come back to bite him in the ass. But he just…couldn’t tell Sam yet. It was too weird, everything was just so _weird_ …he could barely think about his own life right now without his head spinning, and there was no way he could explain it to anyone.

            “I’m sorry Cas, I’m just not, I dunno, ready? It’s not about you…” Dean tried vainly to explain.

            “No, it’s alright, Dean, I understand. Even with my limited knowledge of the complexities of human relationships, I can see how this constitutes an uncomfortable situation with the three of us.” Cas smiled with a tinge of sadness up at Dean. Dean felt relieved, and somehow, even worse.

            “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it. And I will tell him, eventually, y’know…maybe when the case is over and we’re back at the bunker, okay?”

            “Okay,” Cas agreed quietly, now looking very much like a kicked-puppy, and making Dean feel like absolute crap for being the puppy-kicker.

            “So...” A thought popped into Dean’s mind that he hoped would distract the ex-angel. “The other night…You wanted me to demonstrate what could be so nice about a hot shower?” He tacked on his best lascivious grin, and it did the trick, Cas’ face lighting up, even as he ducked his head shyly. Much better, Dean thought.

~~~~~

            After a long shower that wasn’t really clean in any sense of the word, Dean and Cas slipped back into the room, just in time to find Sam crawling reluctantly out of the top bunk.

            “Well, look at our lovely little morning glory. Finally decided to get your lazy ass outta bed?” Dean grinned, enjoying his favorite past-time (annoying his little brother to death) even more than usual, having had what proved to be a pretty exceptional morning.

            “Me? _Lazy_?” Sam growled, his voice still rocky with sleep. “Go to hell, man, you didn’t spend half the night dragging a really pissed off son of a bitch around in your trunk did you? No.”

            “Oh, yeah, whatever did happen to our good friend Nick?”

            “Well, after I found him, I tried to convince him to leave on his own. He refused, as you can imagine, so…. I punched him out and tossed him in the trunk while I did a quick bit of research. Turns out, he already had some B&E charges, along with fleeing bail, waiting on him in southern Minnesota, so we took a little road trip, and I dumped him outside the police station. Waited around a bit, they grabbed him and locked him up. Best we can hope for is that he’s taken care of for a while. Not too permanent, but at least this case can get finished up without him messing around.”

            “Hmm, nicely done, Sammy,” Dean congratulated him, honestly proud.

            “Whatever,” Sam grumped. “What’d you do last night?”

            Cas blinked, and stood suspiciously still. A lifetime of lies and deceit had prepared Dean well, however, and he answered smoothly, with only a light blush reddening the tips of his ears.

            “We got a break in the case!”

            “Wow, really, what?” Sam perked up.

            “Do you want to do the honors?” Dean gestured grandly to Cas, winking. Cas grinned and snatched up the note they’d found the night before and the diary page.

            “You see, Sam?” Cas pointed out the identical y’s proudly. “I think these were written by the same person!” Sam took the pages, and peered at them more closely, not looking very impressed.

            “Um, yeah, I guess so. But what does that prove?”

            Cas’ forehead furrowed in disbelief at Sam’s blank expression. “It…it proves that…that Violet was very angry, and anger is the basis for vengeful spirit, so Violet…”

            “You think _Violet_ is the ghost?” Sam almost scoffed, but stopped himself at Cas’ crestfallen expression.

            Dean was agape at Sam’s uncharacteristically rude dismissal of Cas’ clearly brilliant deduction. “Yes, we do think that, Sam,” Dean threw his arm around Cas’ shoulder, in what he hoped looked like a show of brotherly solidarity. “You don’t have to be a dick, just because Cas figured it all out before you did.” Dean squeezed Cas’ shoulder, and Cas leaned into his side, looking rather pleased. Sam was looking rather confused.

            “Dude, it just seems like Violet was probably a gold-digger, not a killer,” Sam cautiously tried to explain.

            “Yeah, well, this note basically saying “fuck with me and I’ll kill you” would seem to portray the blushing bride in a different light. Not all ghosts were killers when they were alive, in fact, a lot of them were the victims, and then just came back all good n’ pissed about it.”

            Sam’s eyes flicked between Dean and Cas, as he answered slowly, “Yeaaaaah….guess so. Well, in that case, I’ll make sure and keep an eye out for anything that might implicate Violet.”

            “When you’re doing what? Sam, Cas solved the case!” Dean insisted, looking both insulted and proud on Cas’ behalf. “We should just head out to the cemetery and torch Violet’s bones!”

            “Uh…even ignoring the whole thing with the police and private security patrolling the place, it’s the middle of the day! If you’re really so sure about it being Violet, we can pay her remains a visit tonight after dark, ok? In the meantime, I got a call back from the local precinct, so I’m going to, or at least, FBI agent Ford is going to, go and have a chat with the officer who was first on the scene at the last murder…or, well, what with Darren, now I guess it was the second to last murder.”

            “Fine. Cas and I’ll stay here and see if we can find anything to use against Violet, if we can’t get into the cemetery to burn her bones.”

            “Fine,” Sam held up his hands in surrender, before leaning down to dig in his duffel for his Fed suit.

~~~~~

            As Cas and Dean headed up to the attic, Cas took Dean’s hand. “Just keeping up appearances,” he winked. “Emily thinks we’re married after all.” Dean laughed, and smiled at his…well, what was Cas to him now? Lover? That sounded kinda creepy. Boyfriend? God, that sounded even worse.

            Dean’s train of thought was cut off when then they reached the attic and found Emily poring over some old hat boxes, which she quickly abandoned with an excited, “Hey guys!”

            She was already talking at a million miles per hour before they’d even stepped off the stairs. “OMG I have something to tell you! It might be important, or not, I don’t actually know but anyway, yeah, it’s a thing!” she babbled, bouncing in place.

            “What?” Dean and Cas asked in unison.

            “So, my grandma came by this morning, and I asked her if she remembered anything about the murders that happened here, and she told me about the one in the fifties. She was barely eighteen then, but she remembers it really well, because it was Mayor Thomas, and so it was a big deal. She remembers there was even more gossip than you’d expect around a city official being murdered, because even though the papers say he was staying there with his wife, everyone knew that his wife was visiting her sister in out East…and everyone also had been speculating for a while about a sordid love affair between him and the Deputy Mayor Harry Williams.” Emily finished her story slightly out of breath, eyebrows raised as she waited for a reaction from Dean and Cas.

            “Okay…so, the mayor was having an affair, and then he got killed…” Dean pursed his lips in thought. “That sounds like it could be a ghost’s M.O., but it doesn’t fit any of the other victims, does it?”

            “Oh…well, no. I mean, I heard that girl Daisy talking to her husband…talking to her _late_ husband…” Emily took a deep breath and continued, “about how she really wanted to tell her parents that they’d eloped. He said something about ‘soon’ or whatever, but she didn’t seem too happy, I heard her say something about ‘trusted you’…that marriage wasn’t off to a good start. Ohmigod!” Emily threw her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that! That was a terrible thing to say when he just…he’s just…”

            “Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Dean reached out to pat her shoulder. “Let’s try and focus. What’s connecting these murders? A guy who’s secretly screwing some dude behind his wife’s back gets ganked, and a guy who’s making his wife lie to her parents gets it too. What’s in common?” The trio thought for a minute.

            “Deceit,” Cas finally stated calmly.

            “Hey…hey, that makes sense!” Emily was, if possible, even more excited now.

            Dean’s heart missed a beat. Well, that hit a bit too close to home, what with him hiding his relationship with Cas from Sam, not an hour prior. Dean’s eyes shot up to meet Cas’, but he found no anger or accusation there.  

            “Were you here when that older guy was murdered, the one that Nick,” Dean grimaced just saying the name, “was looking into? Do you remember anything that might fit with our theory?” Dean asked Emily, ignoring the annoying prickling of his conscience.

            “Yeah I was here, but I only saw his wife, and only once…but I do remember it well. She came back to the hostel, steaming mad, shouting into her cell about how ‘he stood me up at dinner, on our anniversary, and you know what? I think he’s out fishing! Can you believe him?’”

            “So this guy was also kind of a dick, probably lied to his wife,” Dean deliberated out loud. “So, our working vic profile is: asshole kind of guy hurts someone close to him, and gets ganked. That sound right?” he looked to Emily and Cas for confirmation, and they quickly nodded their agreement. Dean realizes with growing discomfort that he and Cas pretty much fit that profile. Well, Dean did in terms of the asshole part, he figured.

            Emily’s cell dinged, and they all jumped. “Oops, sorry!” she frowned. “My break’s over, I gotta go back down to the desk…”

            “That’s fine, just…be careful. Ghosts tend to be unhappy when people start to catch on to them.”

            “Will do!” she mock saluted them with a smile, before bouncing down the stairs.

            Dean looked at his new…whatever it was Cas was to him, and sighed, wondering if there would ever have been a worse possible place to finally figure out their feelings for each other, than just in time to mold themselves into the exact specifications for the ghost’s victims. Sometimes, Dean couldn’t believe his own life.

            Something occurred to Dean then, and he only hesitated for a moment, before slipping his amulet off and placing it around Cas’ neck.

            "I can't, uh, exactly say it'll keep you safe, I mean, for chrissakes, I actually _died_ wearing it, but...I'd still feel better knowing you have it."

            Castiel touched the metal, warmed by the heat of Dean’s skin, and felt an unfamiliar prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to the worry lines etched deeply into Dean’s forehead.

            An hour or so later, after more fruitless searching (and more than one random make-out session that was, you know, completely necessary for the good of the case) Cas tossed a broken tennis racket over his shoulder in frustration, exclaiming, “If the ghost is Violet, and she hid those diary pages in the first place, then there must be something of import in them somewhere.”

            “Um, yeah, that’s kind of why we’re looking for more…” Dean watched Cas stomp in a circle around the attic.

            “But maybe…maybe we already found what we’re looking for!” Cas exclaimed, suddenly animated. He took off down the stairs, just like he had last night, and Dean followed with an aggravated sigh.

            “Cas!” he called after his friend’s retreating back, “where are you going?”

            Dean got slightly lost on his way back to the lobby, and by the time he found it, Cas was nowhere to be found.

            “Emily,” he began, turning to their friend, currently on the phone behind the counter. Before he could even finish his question, she wordlessly pointed up the stairs. Dean mouthed a thank you, and was about to follow Cas, but stopped when Sam flew in the outer doors.

            “Hey, Dean! Great I caught you! I found out something pretty interesting at the police station.”

            “Okay…” Dean looked back towards the stairs to their room with a sigh. Cas’ revelation could wait a moment, he supposed.

            “So get this,” Sam began eagerly. “The police told the press that they found the fourth guy’s body outside the laundry room, but it turns out, they just said that as a favor to the hostel, so it wouldn’t scare the customers who were staying near 307…where he was actually murdered.”

            “307? But that’s…” his stomach dropped. Dean grabbed his younger brother’s arm and pulled him urgently towards the stairs.

            “Yeah,” Sam shook his head in disbelief, “our room, I know. Figures, right? But we shouldn’t have anything to worry about, we don’t exactly fit the profile, I mean, the ghost seems to be taking the men who stay here with their girlfriends…”

            “Not exactly, Sammy, that second murder back in the ‘50s, Emily told us that the noble Mayor Thomas was staying here with his lover…the Deputy Mayor Harry Williams.”

            “Okay… But still, neither you or me or Cas…” Dean flinched guiltily at Cas’ name, and Sam halted briefly on the second floor landing, confusion and understanding battling for control over his features.

            “ _Dean_. Is there something you need to tell me?”

            “Dammit Sammy, now is not the time for a goddamn coming out speech!” Dean grunted shoving his brother bodily up the stairs, and grabbing his gun from his waistband.

            “Coming out – _Jesus,_ Dean you didn’t –.”

            “Not. The. Time,” Dean growled under his breath as he pulled the slide back on his gun, his knuckles white on the ivory grip. Dammit. He should have been watching out for Cas, the dumbass ex-angel was his responsibility, even more so now with the…new tier added to their relationship. They clattered around the corner, attempts at sneakiness completely undermined by the creakiest floorboards in the known universe. They flung open the door to 307, brandishing their weapons. The chair was overturned, the small mirror had a coat of icy fog, and a spray of salt coated the floorboards. And Cas was gone. 


	8. Chapter 8

“Goddammit, _goddammit_!” Dean roared, kicking over the spindly chair in a fury. A piece of paper folded in half fluttered to the floor.

            “Calm down, Dean. We’ll get him back,” Sam tried to pacify his brother, as Dean leaned down to pick up the paper. It was a page from the diary, folded so that a line in the middle of the passage was emphasized. “I was quite positively drawn to the solace of the roses,” it read.

            “Son of a bitch…” Dean brandished the page at Sam.

            “What, what is it?”

            “The garden. Violet was friggin’ obsessed with it. So if she was gonna take Cas somewhere…”

            “That’s where it’d be! Let’s go!” The brothers paused only long enough to grab their bag of ghost-hunting essentials, before they took off back down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the check-in desk.

            “Emily, does this place still have a garden? Like the place with the roses that Violet talked about in her diary?” Dean asked urgently.

            “Um…uh, no, it was torn up when we built the new wing, why?”

            “We gotta get to that new wing now, Violet’s got Cas.”

            Emily gasped and dashed out from behind the counter.

            “This way!” she called, leading them outside. “It’s not finished yet, so there’s no access from inside,” she explained as she led them around to the back of the building. Sam and Dean headed for the entrance, currently covered in clear plastic. Dean turned back and ordered Emily sternly, “Do not come in here, ok? Ghosts are damn dangerous, and I won’t see you hurt.”

            “Okay,” she squeaked, clutching her hands together and looking terrified.

            Sam and Dean carefully swept aside the plastic sheeting and stepped inside. It was dark, despite the morning light, and plaster dust choked the air. The brothers stepped carefully around construction equipment and debris, pulling out and loading a sawed-off shotgun each with salt rounds. They cautiously rounded the first corner into a hallway, gun-barrel first, sweeping each room as they passed it. Just as he began to despair, Dean caught sight of a familiar dark shape huddled in the corner of the last room.

            “Cas!” Dean shouted, making to run forward, at the same time that Sam yelled “Dean!”

            Dean whipped around, just in time to see Sam’s huge form being hurled at him, at an incredible speed. Sam and Dean were both thrown bodily into the room, crashing painfully through a pile of bricks. They’d barely begun to struggle back to their feet, before they were both flicked against opposite walls with matching thuds.

            “Well, hello boys, I’m so glad you could join us,” a simpering voice floated through the room. “Sorry for the mess, but I just haven’t had the time to clean up…too busy watching you run in circles, and, of course, wielding this axe can take a lot out of a girl, even if she’s dead.”

            In the center of the room, the dust began to swirl faster and faster, until a skeletal figure began to form, finally solidifying into the shadow of a very slender young woman, tightly clutching a massive, blood drenched axe. Her dead lips stretched into a mad smile, as she grinned at Sam and Dean in turn.

            “I’m so glad to finally meet you properly,” she curtsied elegantly, and floated towards Sam. “You’ve been on the wrong track for so long, it was a great deal of fun watching you dance…and I’ve always loved puzzles!” she giggled. “Did you like the one I made for you?” she asked Sam sweetly, leering into his face. He tried to shrink away, but she held him tightly against the wall.

            “I was conflicted, you see,” she continued, turning towards Dean, “because I didn’t want you to _actually_ figure it out…but maybe I did. Watching you all chase after Jim was amusing, but then little Cas here started to figure it out, which was very exciting, but, of course, had to be dealt with. And then you!” with a gust of wind she materialized an inch from Dean’s nose. “You’re breaking his little heart, making him lie to your brother, lie to his friend, making him feel ashamed…”

            “Well, aren’t you a talkative little dead bitch,” Dean remarked dryly.

            “Oh! Don’t you sound _just_ like Richard!” She slammed the axe into the ground, splitting the concrete. “No one wanted to listen to me when I was alive, but you _are_ going to listen to me now that I’m dead!” she screeched, and smashed Dean’s limbs harder into the wall.

            “So, as I was saying,” she smoothed the ruffled wisps of her ratty dress. “Cas has to go, and you’ll be joining him. Your brother too, since he’s here.”

            “Hey, c’mon, Sam didn’t do anything,” Dean tried to protest.

            “Oh, well, waving this at me certainly counts as something!” Violet laughed as she kicked the shotgun across the room. “And I’m not exactly in the best mood right now, I mean these people are going around, adding on a new wing to _my_ home, tearing into the place where our garden used to be…I mean crazy killer or not Jim was an excellent gardener, and it was among those roses that I felt most at peace…” Violet’s ghost drifted in a reverie, and Dean took a moment to glance at Cas. His shoulders appeared to be moving, but who knew for how long. This particular spirit was a whole special kind of crazy.

            “And now!” Violet flew out of her trance, and the wall Dean was held against shook as she raged at him, “they’ve _destroyed_ my beautiful roses, my home…am I not allowed to just be dead in peace?”

            “Hey, I can understand that, believe me,” Sam called from across the room, Violet spinning towards him, “I know what you’re saying…but chopping people up really isn’t the way to get them to leave you alone!”

            “Maybe, but if I’d gotten to Jim first, then he wouldn’t have been able to kill me! Or, better yet, if _Richard_ had done something about him, instead of telling me I worried too much. I mean, Jim was a psycho. He always was. I knew that he was going to do something crazy! I _told_ Richard that he was dangerous! But did he listen? No!” she punctuated her words by slamming Sam’s head into the bricks behind him with a crunch that Dean deeply hoped wasn’t bone.

            “He said he would keep me safe!” Smash.

            “He said he would protect me from him!” Crash.

            “But then, on the night before our _wedding_ , Richard leaves me! At the mercy of a madman! He said he had business to do, but then his best friend’s wife visited, and I found out that he was at their house, playing one last game of poker with the boys before the sun set on his bachelorhood.” Sam’s head lolled, he was clearly unconscious….at least, Dean assumed it was merely unconsciousness. He didn’t dare think it was anything worse.

            “I mean, Jim, sure, he was crazy, but he was always pretty straightforward, he didn’t _lie_. ‘I’m going to kill you if you marry Richard, you gold-digging whore, etcetera…’ but Richard, he said he wouldn’t let anything happen to me and…well. I think we know how that ended.”

            The slim, ethereal figure glided towards Dean noiselessly. She leaned in close, and murmured in his ear, “Richard is the one who betrayed me. Like you betrayed him,” she angled her head towards Cas, still a huddle of limbs in the corner. “You knew that something dangerous was in this place, but you just left your lover, helpless and alone! You didn’t even have the decency to tell the truth to your own brother about you two, even though it broke poor Cas’ heart that you were so ashamed of him. You disloyal bastard,” she hissed, her dead icy lips brushing against Dean’s earlobe, “You’re the one who deserves to die.”

            “Uh…” his brain seemed to freeze as he tried not to process the emotional impact of the ghost’s cutting words. “Maybe I do, but why did Darren deserve to die? And the other guys before him? They were innocent people!” Dean asked, hoping to stall for more time.

            “Innocent? They were disloyal! Just like Richard, just like you!” Her already massive eyes grew even wider as she flew into another rage. Paint cans, bits of lumber and other debris whirled around the room as the vengeful spirit ranted, “All those years ago, when I first awoke from my long sleep, I found that pathetic man, sneaking out in the middle of the night on his _honeymoon_ , to go and drink! His wife disapproved of his filthy habit, and so he went off without her! But I set him straight.” Violet’s remembrance of her past victory seemed to calm her, but Dean didn’t want her calm. Then she might realize how unnecessarily chatty she was being, and decide to finish him off.

            “And the other three?” Dean tried to egg her on. She dematerialized, and then reappeared again an inch from his nose, a horrible grin on her face. Dean’s stomach dropped when he realized that she was again holding the long blood-stained axe that had killed her all those years ago, clenched in her wraithlike fist.

            “They were all the same. That mayor was going to dump his lover and get a new running mate for the next election, he used that poor man for his body and then was just going to ditch him for an even younger model… and that old husband a few decades later just wanted to go _fish_ , of all things, on his anniversary trip! He didn’t _love_ his wife…and that young man from last night? He convinced that girl to _elope_ with him! And he was making her keep it a secret because his rich family expected him to do better! Better than that sweet young girl? How could there be? But he still had the nerve to be ashamed…bastard. He didn’t deserve the love he got. I know that. None of them did! And neither do you.” Violet raised the axe slowly, an insane smile spreading across her rotted features. Suddenly the spirit screamed, and a spray of salt showered down on Dean. Emily stood just behind where the spirit had been, terror etched deeply in the lines of her face, and a box of table salt clutched in her hands.

            “What…what do I do?” Emily choked out in a high, wavering voice.

            “The axe!” Dean shouted, diving for his bag and digging out accelerant, feeling in his pocket for his lighter. “Salt it!”

            Emily stumbled forward dumping the remains of the box onto the bloody weapon, as Dean dragged himself towards her, twisting the cap off the bottle with his teeth, and flicking the cap of his lighter.

            “Nooooo! _You won’t stop me_!” Violet screamed, bursting back into existence across the room and flying towards them in fury. Even as Dean coated the axe in fuel, the lighter clicked to no avail, refusing to grant him a single spark.

            “Oh, give it here!” Emily squeaked, tearing the lighter from Dean’s hands, just as the spirit grabbed the back of his jacket and tossed him bodily into the wall. She flicked the lighter once, a white flame bloomed at its tip, and she tossed it onto the haunted axe, which immediately exploded in a white-hot blaze. With a wail and a shower of sparks, Violet followed suit. And then, there were just four humans and a pile of ashes scattered on the hardwood floor.

            Dean gaped at the receptionist from his twisted sprawl on the ground. Emily waved at him weakly, and muttered, “Smoker’s habit. Just kicked it. Guess it wasn’t all bad.”

            Dean struggled back up into a standing position, and then pulled the petite brunette into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair as she clutched at him. He could feel her trembling even as she answered in an attempted casual tone, “No problem. Just another day’s work.” She began to smile, before her hands flew up to her face and she spun around. “Oh my gosh, are they alright?” she dashed towards the closest prone body, Sam, and prodded his shoulder as he blinked, regaining consciousness after his very serious beatdown.

            “Hey, take it easy big guy,” Emily smiled shyly as she helped drag Sam to his feet, before she turned back to Dean. “Is your husband okay?” she asked him in honest concern. Sam’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he looked down at the young woman. Clearly his brains were a bit scrambled, and he wasn’t hearing things right.

            “No, yes, I mean he’s not, yes, yeah he’s fine,” Dean rambled, helping Cas, who was just starting to stir back into consciousness too, sit up against the wall.

            “Oh thank goodness! Although, I guess this is what you do, so…”

            “So, this isn’t our first life-or-death situation. I would say more like our thousandth,” Dean finished for her.

            “Wow, that must be rough on your relationship though…I mean, that’s like the worst thing I can imagine, to lose your _husband_ …”

            Dean cringed. He’d been so close. So close to getting through the weekend without giving Sam the ultimate material for eternally embarrassing his older brother.

            “What?” Sam almost laughed, now quite sure that his brains weren’t _that_ scrambled.

            “I should…I have to call the police!” Emily realized suddenly, and made to dash from the room.

            “No, no you shouldn’t do that,” Dean corrected her, waving his hands for her to stop. “There’s no body, there’s no nothing, no crime for you to report. What you should do, though, is go and check if any of the other guests heard all that racket, and if they did, make sure they don’t come nosing around.” Emily thought for a moment, then nodded somewhat feverishly before rushing away.

            “Wait,” Sam called from the other side of the room, still looking pretty rough, and leaning heavily on the wall. His eyes had taken on his patented puppy-dog look, and he asked his brother earnestly, “You didn’t get secretly married… without inviting me?” Sam looked so honestly hurt at the thought, that even though Dean knew that after he’d reorganized his jumbled marbles, Sam wouldn’t let him hear the end of this particular misadventure, Dean just couldn’t bear to answer in his usual sarcastic-asshole way.

            “No, dude, I did not get secretly married to anyone, including Cas.”

            “Right. Because you would have invited me if you married Cas.”

            “Wow,” Dean leaned down and dragged the partially conscious ex-angel to his feet, ignoring his younger brother’s last remark. “You are _so_ concussed right now, aren’t you?”

            “Uh…yeah,” Sam agreed, swaying slightly in place.

            “That’s it,” Dean decided, pulling his not-husband’s arm around his shoulders and leading him to the door, “MRI’s all around, on me.”


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, after a trip to the hospital, the boys went back to the hostel for the last time to pick up their things and say goodbye to Emily. She was tearful and grateful, and she hugged them all at least three times. Dean made sure she had their number to call, and told her that she was not to hesitate to give them a ring if she was ever in trouble. There was a little more crying at that, and then final kisses goodbye, and then the trio was on the road back to the bunker.

            It was an incredibly quiet, and incredibly awkward trip back. Dean attempted conversation once, but with Cas mostly passed out in the backseat on painkillers (having received the worst of Violet’s wrath it turned out) and Sam just glaring daggers at him whenever he spoke, Dean wisely chose to remain silent.

            When they got home, Dean helped Cas into bed, where he immediately passed out again. Dean wanted very badly to join him, but he knew that he was going to have to talk to his brother, and soon, and if he didn’t go find Sam, Sam would find him.

            Sure enough, Sam was standing with his arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe opening into the kitchen. Dean approached slowly.

            “Heya, Sammy, how’re you doing?”

            Sam ignored his brother’s greeting, asking without any preamble, “So, Dean, when exactly were you planning on telling me about you and Cas?” Sam stared down his older brother, sporting his most accusatory glare.

            Dean flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping if he kept them closed long enough, this conversation he never in an eternity wanted to have with his little brother would spontaneously cease to exist. His eyes skated among the pots and pans hanging from the kitchen walls behind Sam as if he could find the right words lurking behind them. He shifted awkwardly as he finally managed to say, “Dude, I know it’s weird because it’s Cas, and he’s our friend and stuff, but the thing is that _I_ don’t even know entirely what’s going on, and I didn’t know how to, or _want_ to, have this big gay crisis, coming-out-of-my-padlocked-closet-and-shit conversation with you! It’s just _weird_ as all hell and I just…” Dean deflated a little with his uncomfortable admission, and began a studious inspection of the ceiling tiles.

            “…Decided it would be easier to lie?” The accusatory tone in Sam’s voice had softened now, and Dean chanced a glance at his brother to try and pinpoint how he was reacting to the whole event. Sam’s eyes were no longer those of a person deeply betrayed by his own blood, but were, to Dean’s disbelief and rising irritation, sparkling with amusement.

            “Well…I guess I may have…mislead you, occasionally…” Dean replied hesitantly. 

            “Yeah, that’s called lying.”

            “Shut up.”

            “So, when did you two hook up then?”

            “Uh…I mean…like, the night when Nick got Darren killed.”

            “Oh. That wasn't that long ago, I guess.” Sam shrugged, no longer even looking insulted. “Not long that you've been _lying_ to me about screwing our friend, an ex-angel of the friggin’ lord, a being of divine wrath-”     

            “- _Sam_ ”          

            “Ok. Ok, whatever but…” Now there was a definitely mischievous twist to Sam’s mouth, and Dean was mildly concerned what he could possibly find funny in this conversation.

            “But, like, how did this even happen?  I mean, you’re completely emotionally stunted, and Cas only recently became human, how did you…ahh…” Sam smiled widely as he struggled almost gleefully for the right words, “How did you two admit your deep and abiding love for each other?”

            Dean blinked. “ _What_?”

            “Seriously, man, like, I’m not even mad, really. You two keeping your little secret it’s pretty…romantic,” Sam choked a little on the end of his sentence, trying to maintain a serious expression, which was incredibly difficult considering the onslaught of giggles he was struggling to suppress.

            “No, wait, what, no,” Dean shook his head vigorously, and waved his hands about as if they could physically brush his brother’s comments away. “No, no, no, I’m not going to have this conversation.”

            “What, you mean you’re not going to have it now?”

            “ _Ever_ ,” Dean corrected him as he began to cautiously sidle towards the kitchen door.       

            “But why didn’t you tell me? Did you think that I’d have a problem with you, uh, seeing an older man?” Sam barely managed to finish his sentence before dissolving fully into giggles. Dean scoffed at the remark, playing the too-cool-to-care card, before he actually realized it was true. Cas was old. Like, really old. Like, not just Hugh Hefner gets hitched to Playmate of the Year old, but…eons. He used to be a celestial being who, if Dean remembered correctly, was present at the birth of humanity.            

            “Oh, God, gross,” Dean blanched. “Cas _is_ an older man. This is freaky. This is really weird. Oh crap, this is SO weird.” Sam stopped laughing at the look of actual mounting terror on his big brother’s face.

            “Hey, man, I’m just joking with you,” Sam admitted, holding up a calming hand.

            “No, no, no, no, I totally didn’t even think of that, my God did I just sleep with a…a…so much beyond a senior citizen! Jesus _Christ_ …” Dean seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, and Sam stepped forward, a bit worried now.

            “Listen, man,” Sam began uncomfortably, “I really am just kidding, I mean, sure, Cas has been around a while but…he’s not an angel anymore, so I think that probably means…well, I dunno, actually. It doesn’t, like, count?”

            “No, but Sam, maybe this is why I didn’t tell you because deep down I knew it was creepy and…and… _wrong_. Is this wrong?” Dean’s expression was downright distraught now, and Sam felt the heavy weight of guilt prickling his shoulders.

            “No, Dean,” he pointed a decisive finger at his brother, “you and Cas, I’m not gonna say it’s not strange, and that it didn’t throw me for a bit of a loop but…” he sighed, thinking back to all the years they’d known the then-angel. “You and him, you’ve always had something special. Really special, and although I didn’t, at least consciously, think it would go in this, uh, direction, I always felt that you two would be, I don’t know… together. In one way or another. You just…work.” Sam shrugged, unable to properly convey his feelings, but his halting speech didn’t seem to matter, as Dean looked up hopefully at his younger brother.

            “Really? I mean, you think it…it’ll work? You’re OK with it?” Dean had that sad, longing expression on his face that made him look simultaneously world-weary and incredibly young. So, essentially, completely vulnerable. Sam hadn’t seen this face often, but he knew that these moments of honesty were rare, and of the utmost value. The kind of moments where relationships could be made or broken. So, he reached out, and patted his brother’s face with a palm, and assured him, “Yeah, man, it’s OK. I think you two are good for each other. You bring out the human in him, and he keeps you human. And if you want it to work….well, then you’ll make it work. One thing I can say about you, you don’t give up. Ever.”

            Dean smiled, shoulders relaxing in relief. He looked at his shoes for a moment, and when his eyes met Sam’s again, his emotional wall was back up, and the old, sarcastic asshole that was classic Dean Winchester was back.

            “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that qualifies as enough chick flick moments to last several lifetimes.”

            Sam heaved his most put-upon sigh. “I pity Cas for having to put up with you, probably forever now. You know, it doesn’t mean that no one else can discuss their feelings in an open and healthy manner, just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

            “You know you totally just paraphrased Harry Potter right there. Nerd.”

            “Maybe, but you _knew_ that I was paraphrasing Harry Potter, so logically that means that you…”

            “Shut up. Bitch,” Dean punched Sam’s shoulder playfully.

            Sam pushed Dean back, his mouth stretching into a real, genuine smile for the first time in far too long.

            “Jerk.” 


End file.
